


The Kid with the Cast

by wheezybeaver



Category: IT (2017) RPF, IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Beverly Marsh Knows Everything, Breaking and Entering, Bullying, Childhood Friends, Coming Out, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, First Meetings, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, High School, Homophobia, Losers Club (IT) Friendship, M/M, Minor Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Mystery, Oblivious Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Occasional fluff, Period-Typical Homophobia, Reddie, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier is a Little Shit, Sonia Kaspbrak's A+ Parenting, Teenage Losers Club (IT)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2020-10-13 09:33:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 71,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20580308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheezybeaver/pseuds/wheezybeaver
Summary: On Richie Tozier's first day of high school, he meets Eddie Kaspbrak, a small boy with a fanny pack and a cast and an anger problem.But, what Richie will soon find out, Eddie has a few big secrets up his sleeve. Secrets that could change both of their lives forever.





	1. Why're You Starin' at Me?

Wednesday, August 14th, 1991. Richie exited the classroom like everyone else, the blaring sound of the bell that indicated the end of fifth period quickly muffled by voices and footsteps and general ruckus. He gave an audible sigh, thinking, _three more periods and I get to leave this shithole_. And then, _Until_ _I have to come back tomorrow. _It was the first day of high school and Richie had already learned three things. One, detention was in the spare room in the library (which he would be personally checking out Thursday), two, Mrs. Gleestok is extremely pissy in the mornings, and three, don't hang out in the lunch bathroom during study hall because Henry Bowers _will _find you. Richie's hand popped up to graze his fingertips over the soon-to-be-bruise on his cheekbone. _Great way to start the year_.

The kids were much bigger in Derry High, and he found himself grimacing at the overweight giants with hairs popping out of their chins, some with fully grown beards, others who he would've thought to be in elementary school at first glance. He himself had shot up out of grade school at the not-so-graceful height of 5'11 and could almost feel himself continue to grow even taller. He was thin, all knobby elbows and knobby knees that made him clumsy and in the way. He had thickly rimmed glasses, thankfully not the same coke bottle ones he wore as a child that made him cringe at the thought of them (The combination of those and his braces, which were recently removed, violently stuck a  _ nerd _ label on him, which was terribly true but embarrassing nonetheless).

_ H15,  _ he thought to himself, trying to find his geometry class. The endless flow of students made it hard for him to see the room numbers. Richie walked through one of the main hallways, dodging a no-doubt 'special' kid who flew down the hallway, a teacher chasing after him and yelling, "Bobby!  _ Bobby  _ get back here!"

He gave a glance back at them before turning forwards and noticing a very small figure, clearly struggling. The boy was diagonally across from Richie in front of him, but they were moving the same direction. The kid was moving against the current of students, trying to escape to Richie's side but being pushed up against the maroon lockers. He was small, like 5'1 or 5'2 small, this tiny thin  _ thing _ surrounded by upperclassmen. 

The boy somehow managed to escape the crowd, coming to frantically walk in front of Richie. Richie had noticed, on his way over, he had a cast surrounding his right forearm and around the base of his thumb. He was desperately trying to carry a binder and textbook and book with his left arm, his right doing nothing to help steady them.

Richie looked up at the sign above them saying that the next highway was the H wing. Conveniently, the boy turned into it as well. He was still struggling, the sound of papers crinkling and his small voice mumbling to himself echoing in the almost-empty hallway.

Richie turned his head to the left, internally wincing at how helpless and nervous it looked. He clenched his eyes closed after the boy's voice very clearly cursed, " _ Shit! _ " 

A male teacher who stood near the doorway of his classroom, gut hanging over top his belt, threatened a, "Watch your language," as he went by.

"Oh-sorry," the boy said quietly to the floor.

Further down the hallway, he continued to move around and struggle, nearly dropping his things multiple times.

"Oh my  _ fuck, _ " Richie said to himself before catching up with the tiny creature, walking beside him. "Need help with any-a that, Shortstack?" He didn't mean to say the 'shortstack' part, but as usual, his mouth had a mind of its own.

He looked up at Richie, nearly dropping his things in surprise and maybe a bit because of fright. This close, he could see his short perfectly styled dark brown hair, parted to the left of his head. His soft brown eyes were wide and shiny under the bright lights in the hallway. He had freckles, like Richie, but a few less and (to Richie at least) scattered beautifully and not clumsily around his face. His skin had a flush of pink, most likely from the scolding he received from the beer-bellied teacher, and his darker pink lips were parted just a crack.

Richie gulped.

_ Uh oh _ .

" _ What? _ " the boy said, clearly offended. His button nose slightly scrunched up, which had an undeniably cute effect.

Richie stuck a long finger towards the things in the other's hands. "Need any help?"

"No," he quickly answered and continued to look forward, watching the room numbers as they went by.

Richie saw the room H15, the plaque there next to the door. He looked down at the boy who had also noticed the sign, glancing up at him before breaking off to walk inside. As Richie followed him in, a smile broke onto his face at nearly the exact time the bell rang. "Shortstack, you've got this class too?"

The boy didn't answer, quickly sitting down in the first open spot he saw. Disappointed, Richie trudged to the back of the classroom to the last seat at a table with a girl that had pink streaks through her blonde hair, her hazel eyes staring up at him through her fake lashes, a kid who was nearly too wide fit in his desk, droopy eyelids like he had just come from smoking a joint in the bathroom, and, to Richie's surprise and horror, Victor Criss.

Now, Victor wasn't the worst of the bullies in Derry, merely just tagging along with Henry Bowers and throwing a few insults now and then, but the look he gave Richie then, made his stomach churn with dread.

"Hey Victor," Richie said, crossing his arms. "Your mom gonna call me back or what?" he asked. The ditzy girl to his left gave a cackling laugh (Richie usually liked for people to laugh at his jokes, but this time felt like pushing her out of her chair) and the high kid on his other side ignored the conversation completely, his attention fixed on the chalkboard.

"You're dead," Victor hissed, leaning back in his chair and ruffling the beat-up tank top he always wore.

Richie shrugged, giving a smile. The teacher cut him off before he could continue.

She was old, almost too aged to be alive old, janky pearl beads around her neck and wrist. Richie heard her talking but kept his attention to something much more entertaining: the back of the kid with the cast's head. He was tracing the contour of his body, his small shoulders, the tips of ears. In a wary motion, the boy glanced over his shoulder for a moment, eyes watching the tables and the students before finally landing on Richie, where they stared at each other for a moment. He then ripped his gaze away from him, turning back to the front of the classroom, clearly embarrassed.

"So I'll point to where your seats are," the teacher, who's name was Mrs. Borsh or Warsh or Marsh, Richie couldn't remember, said. "And then when I say  _ go _ you'll sit in your spot so I can take attendance." 

"Alright guys," Richie said in a baby voice like he was speaking to a puppy. "And then we'll put the mats out so we can take nappies."

The entire class erupted in laughter, except for High Kid, Victor, the boy with the cast who looked over his shoulder at him once more (Richie noticed there was a ghost of a smile over his lips which made his chest fill with pride), and, of course, Mrs. What's-her-face, who crossed her arms sternly.

"Now what's your name," she asked, voice shaking in the way old lady's voices do. She pushed up her wide thinly framed glasses.

"Richie Tozier's my name 'n doin' voices is my game, ma'am," he said from the back of his throat to sound like a suspenders-wearing geek. He adjusted his glasses and smiled as she got even more upset, wrinkles deepening on her forehead.

She brought her clipboard with a stack of papers up under her veiny forearm so she could write on it, mumbling, "Richard Tosher-"

"Just Richie actually-"

"Detention. Tomorrow," she concluded, cutting him off. She had a look to her face that said  _ I win _ .

Some kids gave  _ oohs _ , pausing as they saw the expression on his face though. He was smiling. "Ooh, second one already. How many do I need to win a prize?" he asked, making his 'audience' laugh once more. 

This time she ignored him, turning to walk to the table closest to the classroom door, starting to name off who was sitting in each seat. The pink and blonde-haired girl next to him set her pointy elbows on the desk with a thud, bangle bracelets jingling. At some point she had popped a piece of gum in her mouth, chewing it loudly with an open-mouthed smile. She nudged Richie's shoulder with her knuckle. "You're funny," she said, Boston accent and all.

Richie could smell the watermelon scent drifting from her mouth and he guessed she was a sophomore. She was averagely attractive, her spaghetti-strap top leaving nothing to the imagination. But she had a way of making Richie grimace every time she spoke, making it crystal clear that she would be sleeping with all of the junior football team that year at some point. "I try," he said with a wink. He glanced up at the teacher who had started erasing something on the attendance, replacing whatever it was with something else. "Richard," she had said, pointing at the seat in front closest to her desk.

He raised his eyebrows, thinking,  _ She changed my seat. _ The other three at his table were named, Richie paying close attention so he could come up with irritating nicknames to call them. Next to him, Eddie, across from him, John, diagonally from him, Kelly. 

When his teacher told everyone the magic word they headed to their seats, each plopping their backpacks down beside the chair. Richie felt a chill go up his arms from how cold the school was as he sat down, debating if it was worth wearing one of his Hawaiian shirts that day. At the other side of the table Kelly had sat down, a chubby girl who had brown hair and a thick black sweatshirt on. She watched the table dully, constantly shifting around in her seat. John then sat across from Richie, such an average person that he had to think to even pick out different details about him. The scar above his left eyebrow, the way he slouched carelessly in his chair. Richie grabbed the edge of his own desk, pushing back so the top of the chair jabbed under his shoulder blades and cracked his back. To his right he glanced to see who this  _ Eddie  _ was and nearly jumped out of his seat. It was  _ him _ . The kid with the cast. He was leaning his forearms on the desk, back almost arched femininely inwards as he picked at his perfectly white cast. His face was red and he was almost pouting.

"Well, shit," Richie said to him, a wide smile growing on his face. "Eddie, huh. Fate sure knows how to bring people together, doesn't it?"

This was the point where Richie would finally be meeting Eddie, who he was, what he was really like. Nothing could've prepared him for how totally blindsided he would be.

"It's not fate, you asshole. It's called being a nuisance and getting moved to the front of the class," he snapped, finally looking him in the eyes.

Richie's mind went blank for a moment, only a few things like,  _ what  _ and  _ holy shit _ , jumped out at him. All he could do was smile in awe. 

Eddie crossed his arms tightly over his chest. " _ What _ ?" he said, looking away embarrassed.

Diagonally from Richie, he could tell Kelly was listening in on their conversation, eyes nonchalantly grazing over them once in a while. The teacher was talking to a student in the back of the class, the other students collectively making a monotonous chatter. For a moment Richie could only watch Eddie, all sounds going quiet as he stared at the boy, vision only focusing on him and nothing else.

"Why're you staring at me?" Eddie said uneasily, annoyed. 

In the blink of an eye, Richie broke himself out of it and said, "You know, you really are a little shithead Eddie Spaghetti." He let out a laugh, crossing his arms as well.

"Don't call me Eddie Spaghetti," he grumbled, turning forward in his seat. His face had grown even more crimson than before. He was wearing a  _ fanny pack _ . A small black one that sat against his side. Richie saw that He had ankle socks that had three stripes, red blue red. He kept repeating that in his head for no reason,  _ red blue red, red blue red, red-  _ And  _ short _ red shorts topped with a salmon polo shirt (that looked like it was taken straight from the boy's section in Kohl's).

“What’s in there?” Richie asked, prodding at the fanny pack around his tiny waist. “Rock collection?”

“ _ Hey, _ ” Eddie warned, slapping his hand away. “None of your business,” he said defensively. Mrs. Bersh abruptly cleared her throat at the front of the class, staring at the two of them. She then turned to grab a piece of chalk from the thin shelf under the board to write. Richie had noticed John and Kelly had both brought out a notebook on their desks and that Eddie was speedily bringing one out of his backpack, so he brought one out as well, deciding to use the blue one for math. Blue was a math color.

After countless attempts at trying to get Eddie’s attention, whispering jokes loudly to him and poking him and just blatantly staring at him to get a reaction, the class period finally ended, bell ringing shrilly and the metal sound of chairs being pushed out of desks. Richie had been packed up for nearly ten minutes, standing up quickly and slinging his backpack over his shoulder. "Hey, what d'you have next, Spaghetti Head?"

Eddie stood up, putting his black backpack on as well, angry eyebrows furrowed. "Stop calling me that," he said before turning around to leave the class, his binder and textbook and book in his free hand.

Richie caught up with him, sticking by his side as they walked out of the class, everyone pushing and shoving, Eddie's small body practically being thrown against Richie. The boy nearly toppled over as Victor pushed past him into the hallway. Before he could fall over though, in the midst of all the chaos, kids laughing and talking and speeding off to their next class, Richie reached out and grabbed him by his thin shoulders to pull him back against his chest. "Nice going,  _ Dickhead _ ," Richie called to Victor, who was already down the hallway a ways, like an angry driver. He kept his arm around Eddie to keep them close together. "You okay, Eds? Gotta be careful out here, it's a fucking madhouse." He thought he could feel Eddie press closer to him.

"How would you know? You're only a freshman too," he said. "And Eds is a really dumb nickname," he chastised.

"On the contrary," Richie started, leaning down closer to him, smiling wide. "Eds is a really  _ cute  _ nickname. Fits the person it's for, don't you think?" They turned into the main hallway and he let out a breath because they both were heading the same way.

Eddie had shrugged Richie's arm away from him ( _ boy does he blush a lot _ , Richie was thinking) and made an upset noise from the back of his throat. "I'm not  _ cute _ ," he said, irritated. He looked behind him and then ahead, eyes traveling around. "I have to go upstairs," Eddie said abruptly, looking up at him.

"Oh," Richie said, hoping he didn't sound as disappointed as he was. Just walking with this total stranger had made his day ten times better. He could already feel his chest swell with the feeling that time was running out to tell him something,  _ anything _ . He didn't want to wait until the next day to see him again. They were getting closer to the stairs and he looked down at him. There was something familiar in Eddie's eyes.

"Bye," is all Eddie said, a look of  _ you're an idiot _ on his face.

Richie didn't know how he recognized that, but he let out a loud laugh in reaction. And then, finally, for the first time, Richie got to see Eddie smile. Small, but utterly . . .

_ Beautiful. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, do you like want me to continue this? I don't know if it's good and I have no idea where it's going, so like, if it's shit, tell me please.


	2. Toe-zee-er

In seventh period, Richie had photography. Now, this wasn't his idea of course, it was his friend Bill's. Bill was great at art, any type, and in an attempt to have a class with each other, they agreed to both take photography. Luckily, it had actually worked.

They sat next to each other, in stools this time instead of desks, Richie visibly less excited than Bill. He was leaning his elbows on the table, head resting on his hand as he thought of a very special smile, before-

"Alright guys," this teacher said, clapping her hands together. She was young, mid to late twenties, Asian. Pretty, Richie would say, but not beautiful. She wore clothes that his grandmother might wear, which he furrowed his brow at. "I'm Ms. Williams and-"

From then on he spaced her out, mind on other things. He let out a chuckle. "Bill, you have the same name as her. You should totally hit on her, marry her, and take  _ her  _ last name. William Williams? That would be-"

"Ssh, ruh-Richie," Bill whispered, stuttering, as usual, cutting him off from rambling nonsense like he did and then turning so he was fully facing the teacher who stood at the front of the class. 

Richie blew a breath out through his lips, sighing afterward. 

-

He walked sluggishly to gym, his final class of the day. A few unintelligible shouts came from behind him and Richie glanced back to see a crowd forming.  _ It's the first day _ , he thought, unbelieving that there could already be a fight. He kept going on his way, hearing  _ oohs  _ and  _ fight fight fight _ . Richie would've stuck around to watch as well if he didn't think that it could be Bowers or one of his friends in the middle of it. He didn't feel like being noticed and getting pummeled a second time that day.

He filed into the gym with tons of other students, not knowing exactly where to go. As he passed the bleachers he thought he could see the burning end of a cigarette or a blunt in the darkness.  _ I  _ need _ a cigarette _ , his mind whined. Richie had taken to smoking in middle school because of his friend Beverly who constantly stole packs of Camels and Marlboros from the little store by the arcade. It was a bad habit, he knew, but he didn't care enough to stop. Bev had even told him he needed to slow down, cutting back herself.

Richie pulled his schedule out of his jeans pocket (which he had to flatten from the crushed ball it had turned into) when he saw the teachers had their names written on sheets of paper and taped them in various sections on the bleachers. He dragged his finger down its rough texture before he hit the bottom, reading Mr. Thompson next to freshman gym. "Thompson," he mumbled, shoving the paper back into his pocket. Scanning the names, bottom row to top, his class was, of course, the last he looked at. Richie dodged prepubescent kids as he walked across the shiny floor, embarrassed for being associated with them, and turned to clomp up the bleachers. They weren't very high, not very wide either, leaving the rest of the space in the gym open. Only about half of the class was there when he sat down on the first bleacher behind the sign, his gaze shifting across the gym floor to see if he noticed anyone. 

Noticeably, someone sat beside him on the bleachers. Richie turned to look, heart dropping for the second time that day. Because who was sitting there? Well, Eddie, if course.

"Eddie Spaghetti!" he excitedly said.

"That's not my name-"

"Shit, two classes, huh. Am I really that lucky? And you even came over to sit next to me."

Eddie rolled his eyes, slipping his backpack off so he could set it in between his feet. "I don't know anyone else," he mumbled, looking out across the gym. " _ And _ ," the boy said, turning to look at him, "By the way, I waved at you when you came up here but you ignored me." He shrugged.

"I didn't  _ ignore _ you," he said incredulously with a laugh. "You're just so small no one can see you."

" _ Hey _ ," he said angrily. "I'm not small."

Richie started laughing,  _ really  _ laughing this time, holding his stomach. He couldn't wipe the smile off his face, partly because of how blatant of a lie Eddie told and partly because in the presence of him he was giggly and his stomach was full of butterflies.

" _ What?  _ I'm  _ not _ ," Eddie said once again, crossing his arms. The act of it made Richie laugh even harder and the small boy let out an angry puff of air. 

Richie tossed his arm over his shoulder, pulling him close. "Yeah, okay, keep telling yourself that." He sniffed the air, the arid skunk spray scent of weed drifting up from the bleachers.

Eddie pulled his polo up to cover his nose, which was scrunched up from the smell, his eyebrows furrowed. He pushed Richie off of him, saying, " _ Stop _ ."

"Everyone," a large booming voice said.

Richie looked down and realized most of the students (except a few stragglers who entered once in a while) had filed into the gym, sitting by their respective classes.

The voice he had heard was Mr. Thompson who stood with his arms crossed in the bleachers' isle. "Listen up," he said, making Richie grimace at how loud he was being, Eddie flinching beside him. "I'm Mr. Thompson, your PE teacher for the year. I'm about to do attendance, everyone listen up and say here when you're called," the man said in a commanding voice (one which made Richie want to laugh,  _ he thinks he's the shit) _ . He had a buzz cut, a bad attempt at trying to hide his receding hairline which was clearly visible. He had a cliche whistle hanging from his neck and a clipboard like every other teacher.

Mr. Thompson started calling names, Richie vaguely listening for his. "Eddie Kaspbrak?" he called.

"Here," Eddie answered, letting his tensed up shoulders relax after.

"Kaspbrak?" Richie said to the small boy, smiling.

"Yeah? So what?"

Richie shrugged, letting his lower lip stick out just a bit, saying,  _ I don't know.  _ He thought he had heard that last name before,  _ Kaspbrak.  _ He furrowed his brows, thinking. Yes, he had heard that name before. On the-

"Richie t . . toe-z-er," Mr. Thompson called out, absolutely butchering his last name.

"It's Tozier," Richie said to him, rolling his eyes. He eagerly turned to Eddie. "I don't get it, my name isn't even hard to pronounce. It's like Frazier and no one seems to mispronounce that," he ranted as the teacher continued to call out names.

"Tozier isn't common like Frazier. And there's like three different spellings of it," Eddie said, his brown eyes soft against Richie.

"Yeah, but Kaspbrak isn't common either. No one mispronounces yours. People are just bad at the English language, that's what I think, and they try to hide it by pretending it's a weird name that's never been seen before."

"Whatever you say,  _ Toe-zee-er _ ."

Richie groaned.

Richie's class was sent into the locker room, each provided with a lock and combination. In middle school, when he had gym with his friend Stan, they had lockers next to each other. Every day they would change into their gym uniforms with no problem, they were  _ friends _ , it wasn't awkward at all. Richie wondered,  _ then why am I so nervous to change next to Eddie? _

He glanced to his left, where the culprit stood and placed his folded uniform into the small locker delicately. Eddie was chewing his lip timidly, clearly thinking about something.

Richie turned back, slamming his locker and closing the lock with a click, spinning the dial a few times. It was excessively warm and humid in there and it smelled faintly like wet socks. Everyone was standing around, not wanting to go back out into the gym. Richie leaned his shoulder against the lockers, hands in his jeans pockets while he watched Eddie.

Eddie looked at him, shut locked his locker, and then peaked back up at him. Then, opening one of the larger lockers that they used to put their stuff in while gym class was going on, stuffed his face inside it.

Richie quirked an eyebrow up, waiting for something to happen. When nothing did, the tall boy said, "You alright there, Spaghetti?"

" _ Ugggghhh _ ," echoed from inside the locker. "Stop calling me that. And stop staring at me," he ended, mumbling.

Richie felt an open-mouthed smile grow on his face. "You're em _ barrassed.  _ Aw, shucks, Eds.You've got a big fat crush on me, don't you?" he joked.

"No I  _ don't _ ," he whined covering his blushing face in the locker.

"Aw, it's alright Eddie my Love, no one can resist Richie Tozier."

"I'm not gay and if I was I wouldn't even like  _ you _ because you're  _ annoying _ ," he said, stepping back and slamming the locker shut. Richie watched him as he continued to hide his face, finally able to slip his book and textbook into his backpack now that there was room. The boy brushed a fuzz off of his cast.

"How'd you do that?" Richie asked.

Loud laughing came from another row of lockers behind theirs after a  _ thud _ , like someone had been pushed against the metal. 

Eddie looked over, like he could see through the lockers and to the other side. "I uh . . ." His eyes shifted around for a moment. "I don't know I just fell."

"You fell?" Richie asked doubtfully. "From where?"

"Oh-uh down my stairs," he said smoothly. "I was coming out of my room, you know to get a glass of water, and all of the lights were off so I didn't really see where I was when I stepped down the stairs."

To Richie, even though he had only known the boy for a day, this seemed very un-Eddie like. Eddie was careful and he moved fast throughout the hallways, expertly dodging around people because of his size (unless someone like Victor Criss pushed past him). Richie brushed it off though, he must've been tired that night. "You know-"

"Oh  _ hey, _ " a familiar voice came from behind Richie, his shoulders jumping up. He watched as Eddie's eyes blew wide, his expression growing terrified. His eyes read,  _ not again _ .

Richie spun around, turning to face Henry Bowers.

_ Fuck. _

"Hey, loser. You hang out with girly-boy? What a coincidence," he said, glancing at Eddie who was practically hiding behind Richie.

"Hey Bowers," he said to him like he was talking to an old friend he hadn't seen in forever. "You got held back  _ again _ ? Man, I thought gym was supposed to be easy."

Eagerly fast, like Henry had been waiting for him to make a joke, Richie was grabbed by the collar of his Hawaiian shirt and shoved against the locker, a metal clang ringing out from where the back of his head hit. His vision went blurry for a moment, Richie smiling when it did. He heard Eddie give a gasp. "What, do you want me to give you another black eye, Bucky?"

When Richie's vision came back behind his glasses, he looked over to Eddie. The boy was clearly rounding up to do something, punch or kick or even jump on Henry, almost making Richie let out a shout of laughter. He stuck a hand out to stop him. "You know I got braces, right?" Richie said to Henry. He smiled wide, showing off his teeth. "Bucky Beaver's got nothing on these pearls."

Henry slammed him against the locker one more time, making him wince. He stared Richie in the eyes, making his gaze waver a bit, and said, "You and your friends have a lot coming this year," and dropped his collar. He then turned to Eddie.

Richie felt his chest burn with anger.

"Faggot," he murmured, before turning around to walk away.

Eddie stared down at the floor as Richie looked at him. "You too, huh?" he asked him.

Eddie looked up at him finally, pulling on his backpack and saying, "You talk too much."

Richie laughed, both of them smiling.

-

Richie met Bill, Beverly, and Stanley outside of the school, where they sat in the grass waiting for the bus.

"How were your guys first days-and Richie don't tell me you got detention already," Stan said. He was wearing his usual buttoned collared shirt, something he wore every day. (Richie liked to imagine that if he looked in his closet, it would be filled with just these shirts in a variety of colors.)

The three watched Richie as he pressed his lips together in a thin line, fighting the urge to smile. "Well . . ." He brought his hands up in thought. "It's complicated-"

Stan let out a groan, throwing his head back and causing his light brown curls to bounce.

"Oh my god," Beverly said with a disbelieving laugh. "How many times?” She pushed a lock of her short orange hair behind her ear, doing the smile she always did where the left side of her mouth was open just a little wider than the right.

“I don’t know, like-two or three I think,” he responded. “It’s no biggie, they’re all tomorrow so it’s basically like I only got one.” He shrugged. The wind blew against his face, his dark hair waving. 

“I can’t buh-believe you didn’t get detention in photography,” Bill said. He turned to Bev and Stan and said, “He hit on Ms. Williams the entire t-time.”

“ _ Ugh _ , Richie,” Stan said. “She wasn’t-”

Richie casually looked to his left at the figure who stood there, presumably waiting for the bus. He let out a laugh, shaking his head with a smile. “Hey Shortie!” he called out.

Eddie threw his chin over his shoulder like he had been caught. He still had his binder trapped under his left arm like earlier in the day. He had this uncomfortable shift in his stance as he glanced from Richie to his friends and back, eyes almost unsure.

“Who’s th-that?” Bill asked.

“C’mere,” Richie said, motioning for him to join them before turning to the others and quietly saying, “Literally the cutest thing in existence, over there.”

Eddie had come to stand awkwardly beside Richie.

“Don’t just stand there, Eds. Sit down.” Richie patted the grass next to him.

Eddie furrowed his brow ( _ he does that a lot _ , Richie thought) and opened his mouth. It was clear to Richie that he wanted to say something, lips twitching, his facing growing read. “I . . .”

“What? You don’t want to sit in the  _ grass _ ?”

“Of course I don’t want to sit in the grass, you idiot, it’s gross!”

“Eds, it’s just grass-”

“-Don’t call me that-”

“-it won’t hurt you.”

“It’s not just  _ grass _ , there’s dirt and bugs and what if someone spit here when they walked by? Spit their gum right there where you want me to sit-

“Oh c’mon, you little germaphobe, sit your ass down-”

“No, I’m not sitting there-”

“What, you want me to take my shirt off so you don’t have to sit on the dirt and can sit next to me?”

“ _ No _ , I don’t want to sit next to you at all actually-”

“Oh, liar liar, Eds, you’re totally already in love with me-”

“Don’t call me that, you  _ asshole- _ ”

“ _ You love it- _ ”

“How long have you guys known each other?” Beverly suddenly asked, cutting their relentless bickering off. The three of them looked confused out of their minds as they watched the encounter happen.

"Since sixth period," Richie stated confidently, the roaring sound of the school bus coming up the pavement growing louder. He gave a smile up to Eddie as he stood, the boy rolling his eyes in response.


	3. Probably Nothing

The bus ride was fairly new to Richie. It was his first time riding except for in seventh grade when Bowers beat him up so bad he couldn't ride his bike home. He didn’t remember it much, but this time, the driver looked a lot more drowsy in the bus mirror and Richie felt himself grip the grey-blue leather of his seat as they nearly hit a curb.

Eddie (albeit against his will) was stuffed in between Richie and Bill, across the isle from them Stan and Bev. He held his binder close to his chest as they rocked back and forth.

"Suh-so, Eddie," Richie heard Bill begin, before his voice started to drift under the other students conversations.

Even though the three of them were so close, it was useless to lean over to try to listen to them, he couldn’t hear a lick of their conversation. He did hear Eddie give a laugh though. Richie nearly felt the wind get knocked from him.  _ I'm not jealous _ , he thought, giving the answer to a question that was never asked. " _ Eddie Eddie Eddie Eddie,"  _ Richie said loudly, prodding the boy with his sharp elbow. When he didn't pay attention to him he faked a gasp and said, "Oh my God, did you see that kid  _ puke,  _ I can already smell it back here!"

" _ What!?"  _ Eddie nearly choked as he spun his head to look forward. His eyes were wide as they flicked around anxiously.

"So you  _ were _ listening to me," Richie said, smiling with relief after he swallowed.

Eddie's worry dropped from his face as he rolled his eyes. "Trying not to," he mumbled.

"Bill," Richie suddenly exclaimed, looking behind Eddie's head. "Are you trying to seduce this boy?" he accused, putting on his best cop voice.

They both angrily said " _ Richie _ ," Bill stuttering his name.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to confiscate the evidence," Richie said, pulling Eddie onto his lap.

He started to squirm relentlessly, kicking and elbowing. " _ Stop _ , Richie,  _ stop _ it!"

Other kids had started to look over their shoulders and over the seats. Some giving dirty looks. Richie suddenly could smell the faint scent of weed again, drifting over from the back.  _ Seriously where does everyone get- _

" _ Tozier! _ " Eddie yelled. " _ I swear to God if you don't let me go right now I'll fuck you up, I swear to God I will- _ "

Richie started to laugh, loosening his grip a bit so the boy could slide away. "Oh, I'd like to see you try, Spaghetti Monster." 

The bus abruptly stopped, everyone popping up out of their seats except the few that had already been standing. Richie joined them, his friends following him out.

Eddie and Beverly had headed the opposite direction of the other three, Richie only giving a small wave as a goodbye, heart beating himself up from the inside out. As they walked away from the bus stop he turned eagerly to hit Bill in the chest with the back of his hand, a hollow thump sounding.

" _ Ow _ , w-what-"

"What the  _ hell _ , man!" Richie blurt. "What're you trying to do, get in his pants?"

"No," Stan answered for him. " _ You _ are."

"Eddie wouldn't come within forty feet of your duh-duh-dick, Richie."

"What about my heart?"

Silence.

More silence.

"What?" Stan asked.

"Would he come within forty feet of my heart?" he clarified.

There continued to be no answer, just the rustling of the leaves, the tires crunching from a passing car. Until they all broke out into laughter, of course. 

-

Stepping inside his house, Richie slumped back against the door to shut it. The stench of cigarette smoke invaded his nose and he gladly breathed it in, knowing he wouldn't be able to get a pack until he had time to steal some from the drugstore with Bev. 

"Where've  _ you  _ been?" a slurred voice sounded. He could've picked it out from anywhere, this new voice, but he couldn't say he liked it, in fact, it made his stomach churn with guilt. The old version was much more calming, nostalgic like the scent of gingerbread houses that he used to build once a year as a kid. He missed it.

He looked into the kitchen, at the same table, same chair she always sat in. He was so used to it that when Richie saw her there none of this even crossed his mind. Twirling a wine glass round and round, dangerously close to the edge, his mother sat, staring at him with her puffy red eyes. He glanced around tensely, answering, "School."

Her brown eyebrows furrowed, wet lips parting. "I though' it was summer," she said, starting to laugh. "Was tha' today?" She was cracking herself up, giggling smoothly.

"Yeah."

"Oh," she said, suddenly going quiet. She looked to the table before slowly bringing her free hand up, swirling her fingertip through the puddle of red wine that was sure to leave a stain on the glossed wood. Her pretty lips twisted down into an open frown as she let out a quiet sob.

Richie looked away, leaning against the doorway. He could smell that she had been drinking beer as well. "Dad's not home yet?"

She let out a wet laugh that almost had no trace of sadness. "Uh-uh," she answered, voice very childlike. "Paperwork or whatever . . . or  _ whatever _ ."

“Mm,” he sounded in acknowledgment. He stood there idly, biting at the skin of his chapped lips. Standing up straight, he said, “I’m going to do my homework,” and left before she could say anything back. 

Richie didn’t actually have homework but decided it was best to go upstairs into his room. He trudged up the steps, a sigh escaping his throat. His room was a mess, socks and underwear and just blatant trash scattered across the off-white carpet. Richie let his backpack slip down into the mess, after purposefully slamming the door, and then tumbled into bed. “ _ Fuck _ ,” he yelled into the fabric of his pillow. His glasses were pressing into the bridge of his nose uncomfortably so instead of just taking them off he flipped onto his back to stare up at the ceiling. 

He thought of his first day, he thought of Eddie, and then Eddie and Bill. His small smile. His laugh directed at someone other than Richie. He shoved this thought away almost immediately before his limbs could go stiff with envy.  _ Why do you care so much, Tozier?  _ His mind asked.  _ You know why. Don’t you. It’s just like middle school. Remember? That day in the arcade? You remember it, don’t you, Richie? _

“Yes,” he whispered to himself.

_ You like him _ , Richie told heard himself say from the inner far corners of his head.

“No, I don’t,” he responded, clearing his head from his unwanted thoughts. “I don’t even know him,” he said louder, assuring himself.

Well, he  _ was _ right about one thing.

He really didn’t know Eddie Kaspbrak.

-

Richie awoke, his dark eyebrows closing in on his forehead. His eyelids closed heavily a few times. Looking around, he wasn’t sure what had made him be sucked from the dream he was having until he heard a sharp  _ tink _ .

_ Beverly _ .

Richie brought himself to stand, bones cracking. He softly pressed his toes against the floor, making them crackle as well. The clock on his dresser read  **4:57** and he stopped in his tracks before the window.  _ Tink. _ He licked his lips and cleared his throat as he grabbed the metal of the window to slide it open. Richie pushed it up with his skinny arms before sticking his head out into the cool air, his curled locks hanging down, and shouted, "Hang on a minute, Red!"

His thin fingers pulled it down to slam it with a scrape before he spun around and headed out of his room. Richie stopped at the top of the stairs, foot dangling off of the edge. An uneasy feeling filled his gut, one that he couldn't ignore. Richie retracted his sock and stared down the hallway. "Hey, mom," he said loudly.

No answer.

He brought his hand up to scratch the back of his head, to pet down some of his mangled hair. Richie took no time to walk down the hallway to pop open his parents' door, almost sure he wouldn't see her.

But, thankfully (Richie felt a breath of air escape his lungs in relief), she was there, asleep. He slowly crept inside, unable to take his brown eyes off her. She looked so pretty compared to an hour and a half ago, almost peaceful. "Mom," he whispered, as if he had just recognized her for the first time in a while. He did.

Richie snatched the half-full vodka bottle off of her bedside table and left home, draining it down the sink on his way out.

-

"Well,  _ Miss Marsh _ , I didn't expect you to be here," he said, coming to stand at the side of his house.

Beverly threw a pack of unopened cigarettes at his chest, making a plastic crunch, and he clumsily juggled it for a few moments until it dropped to the grass. Richie snatched it up as he pitched his voice higher and said, "Oh thank  _ heavens _ ."

"Called your phone," she said from the corner of her mouth, the other side occupied with a Marlboro. She lifted her pink lighter, clicking it on and shielding the wind with her other hand to set it ablaze.

He took off the plastic from the package, letting it drift off somewhere before opening it. "I was upstairs gettin' my beauty sleep- _ ah _ , can I have a light?" he asked, placing his own cigarette between his lips.

She silently held the flame out to him, Richie sticking his neck out and puckering his lips forward. It lighted with a sizzle as he breathed in and then he took it from his mouth to let out a cloud of white smoke. He let out a laugh as he and Bev started to walk out of the grass to the street. "Pink?"

She elbowed him. "Oh shush. Pink's an underrated color. It's not, like,  _ me _ , but-"

"Ah, I get it," he interrupted.

Beverly was wearing faded black jeans rolled up to her ankles, with actual holes in the knees that were earned, not bought. Her green flannel tied around her waist waved with the breeze. Richie had noticed that some days she dressed like this, tomboy-ish with an almost reckless feel, and others she was all flowers and perfume and blah blah blah- but one thing never changed. She acted like (and was) a total badass.

"So," Richie started nervously, running his fingers through his hair as he tilted his chin up towards the sky. "What'd you think of Eddie?" he asked, the corners of his mouth forcing their way into a smile against his will.

She started to giggle, saying, "He's," (another giggle), "He's great."

"Yeah?" Richie looked at her freckle-covered face before turning to the sidewalk and kicking a pebble.

"Yeah. He talks fast. Like  _ really  _ fast."

Richie laughed. "That he does. Lil' pipsqueak can't even say hi without becoming winded, probably."

"He told me he's friends with Ben," Beverly told him, bringing her cigarette back up to her mouth, hiding her smile.

Richie's mouth gaped. "You  _ asked _ ?" A laugh fell from him.

“I just said, ‘hey, do you know Ben Hanscom’? and he did- he does. It’s not a big deal, I just wanted to know.”

“You are totally  _ in love _ , Bev!” he exclaimed.

“ _ Me? _ Did you see yourself today? I haven’t seen you like that with someone in . . . actually I’ve never seen you like that. Teasing him and pulling him into your lap and you were all smiley and stuff. You two are cute together.” She took another drag of her cigarette.

Richie’s brows ticked together in worry and he stopped for a moment to drop his Marlboro to the sidewalk to stomp it out. She waited for him before they continued their walk, saying nothing. Richie stuck his hands in his pockets. He didn’t know what to say.  _ Eddie and I, we . . . I don’t- _

He watched as Beverly’s smile faded, her eyes searching around.

“What?” Richie said.

“He was . . . a little off?” she said, almost confused.

“What?” he said again.

“Eddie,” she explained. “He was a little off, today. Everything was fine until we got closer to his. His eyes kept darting around like crazy and he was looking over his shoulder and back at his house. You know, real nervous-like.”

Richie shook his head, perplexed. “Why?”

Beverly shrugged her shoulders. “Dunno. It was almost like he was worried someone would see us.”

“You think . . . What about Bowers? I know he messes with him too, what if he was just looking for him?”

“Right, that’s what I thought,” she said. “But it doesn’t add up. He only looked scared when we got to his house. And I-” Bev cut herself off, looking unsure. She flicked her cigarette to the ground in front of them, flattening it into the pavement as they went.

“You what?” he timidly asked.

She looked at him, lips parting. “I thought I . . . saw someone in the window. Eddie saw it too, I know he did because he was immediately frozen, while we walked. Arms stiff.”

Richie thought about this, unsure why Beverly sounded so fearful. “Okay, so it was like one of his parents, right?”

"I mean-I guess. It was just  _ really _ weird." She shrugged again. "Probably nothing."

“Yeah,” Richie said. “Probably nothing.”

Even as he said this he felt like he was lying. There was some underlying  _ thing _ that he needed to find out. It was such a simple moment that could mean absolutely  _ nothing  _ and yet he needed to know. Richie couldn’t let go of things like that, secrets that people were keeping, things that were left unsaid. He would ask people questions over and over again, until finally, they were annoyed enough to blurt out the answer. It was almost like a sort of secret weapon. 

And also,  _ what if there’s something wrong? With Eddie? _ He had only known the boy a day and yet he had felt like he’d known him long enough to tell him his every secret.

Richie just wanted to find out. Just in case. 

And he would.


	4. Kasback

The second day of school dragged on, Richie just trying to make it to sixth period. There was a fight before the bell had even rung for first, and he had witnessed it all as he partially hid behind a row of lockers with Stan. Hiding, of course, because the scuffle was between none other than Henry Bowers and some geek who made the mistake of standing up for himself.

"We should go," Stanley said nervously, glancing down the hallway and probably looking for a path out of the crowd.

"Nah, it's almost over anyway," Richie said. The geek was on the floor, lip practically popped and spewing with blood, a teacher holding Henry back, his bloody knuckles grabbing at air.

"Why d'you even like to watch this crap?"

Richie shrugged. "Free entertainment," he said with a smile.

That was the only interesting thing that had happened to him all day. Richie almost tried to pick an argument with his biology teacher just to get another detention for his amusement, but he really wanted to leave school the next day as soon as possible for the weekend. 

He sat down eagerly in his geometry class, gaze glued to the door.  _ Eddie _ , he was thinking.

“Hey,” the kid across from him with no stand-out facial features except for the scar above his left eyebrow said. Richie had already forgotten his name.

He turned to look at him, annoyed because he was occupied with something important. “What?” he asked, Richie’s voice hurried.

“Why’re you so obsessed with him?” he asked, slouching in his chair and leaning on his forearms. Richie didn’t think he meant for it to sound as malicious as it did, but then he followed it up with, “You gay or somethin’?” His boring-ass face had this boring-ass expression of distaste that made Richie push his eyebrows together in irritation.

“I think what I did with your sister last night would contradict me being gay, so,” he responded, smiling angrily. He looked back to the door, confused as the bell rang harshly and Mrs. Kersh began to talk, her old lady voice drifting right past his ears.

Richie faced forward in his seat before cracking his back against his chair.  _ He must be sick _ .  _ On the second day of school? Yes, on the second day of school.  _ He looked to the teacher, catching on to what she was saying.

“-to each one of you. The first test will be not next Friday, but the Friday after that. Everyone clear?”

Richie was about to say  _ crystal _ , but the click of the door opening from the other side of the room made him forget anything that had come from his teacher’s mouth. He turned his head so fast his neck cracked quietly.

“S-sorry, Mrs. Norsh,” Eddie stuttered out, almost stumbling over to his seat. “I accidentally dropped my things in the hallway.” 

_ Norsh _ , Richie thought,  _ ohh _ . He looked over Eddie, contemplating his appearance. His face was red, harsh breaths coming from his parted lips. His styled hair had slightly fallen out of place, one brown strand hanging in front of his forehead. Along with his binder, in his free arm, he had a few crumpled pieces of paper and a notes packet. In his small hand that jutted from the end of his cast he was holding a pencil. 

Mrs. Apparently-her-name’s-Norsh gave the small boy a disgruntled look as he sat down and then said, “Just manage your time better, Mr. Kasback.”

Richie let out a loud laugh, because, one, what else was Eddie supposed to do, leave all of his shit on the hallway floor? And, second,  _ Kasback! I am never letting this go _ . 

Eddie had dumped all of his stuff on his desk, before putting his head in his hands after the teacher walked back over to her desk.

“ _ Eddie Spaghetti _ ,” Richie started, an amused smile on his face. “You really know how to make an entrance, huh? Did you actually drop all your stuff, or were you just having a smoke in the bathroom or something?”

Eddie looked up at him, grimacing. “A smoke? Are you kidding me? You think I would suck on a cancer-stick all day long? You want my lungs to turn  _ black _ , Richie? Do you-”

“Oh, right, almost forgot. Germaphobe, hypochondriac, fanny pack wearer. You really are a package deal, you know that?” He crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair. The teacher came by to give everyone a packet, Eddie ignoring Richie as he put some of his stuff away.

“Right,  _ Kasback _ ?”

Eddie turned to him with a frown. “No, not right,  _ Toe-zee-er. _ ” He straightened out his blue polo shirt.

Richie smiled down at him, before remembering what he wanted to talk to the boy about, about what Beverly had told him the night prior. His happy expression faded as he adjusted his geometry packet in front of him. For the first time, he actually thought before he spoke.  _ Would it be, I don’t know, appropriate for me to ask if everything’s okay? Would he be mad if he found out Beverly had told me about it?  _ But, soon, Mrs. Norsh had started the lesson, taking away his opportunity to talk to him.

-

Their teacher had given time at the end of class to work on some of their homework problems and Richie had still not built enough courage to ask him about it. It was all mom jokes and teasing and never anything serious with Richie, it’s just the way it was. He didn’t like 'serious stuff' which is mostly the reason why he covered up everything with jokes. Partly.

Glancing to his right, he noticed Eddie with his furrowed brows and parted lips and clenched fist around his pencil. He looked like he was mentally having an argument with his worksheet.

“Hey, you alright there, Half-pint?” Richie had leaned back in his seat once again, well he had been doing it for a while, he had breezed through their homework in just a few minutes which left him with nothing to do.

Eddie let his head fall back between his shoulders and let out a groan, saying, “Can you stop calling me ridiculous nicknames?” before he slumped forward again and let out a frustrated breath through his nose. He connected the tip of his pencil in the empty space under the first problem, eyes moving left to right slowly.

Richie opened his mouth, waiting a moment before asking, “Hey, d’you need help with that?”

The short boy didn’t even look up at him, he just angrily said, “I don’t need your help.”

“Fine,” Richie said, shrugging his shoulders. He leaned forward on his elbows, holding his head in his hand. His eyelids felt heavy so he shut them, lips turning into a frown.  _ He was a little off, today _ , Beverly’s voice said in his mind.  _ I thought I . . . saw someone in the window _ , she repeated.  _ Who? _ Richie thought, and why was this bothering him so much? There was some gut-feeling that he had that was telling him something was going on, that something was going to happen, he supposed. But he didn’t believe in that sort of superstitious kind of nonsense so he quickly tried to forget about it, as he must’ve just been overthinking everything. He decided he wasn’t going to ask Eddie anything or bring it up in any way.  _ That would be totally weird _ , he thought.  _ Totally. _

Richie thought he might doze off the last twelve minutes of class, but felt a timid tap on his shoulder. He opened his eyes and turned to Eddie.

“Uh, hey,” he started, immediately looking down, the tip of his nose pink. “What did you get for number one?” Eddie asked.

“Oh, um.” Richie let his hand fall down to his desk, eyes following his pointer finger to the first problem where his messy handwriting was. “86.4.” 

He looked to Eddie who had his arms over his paper, covering up the problems. He nodded. “Uh-yeah. Me too, um . . . How did you get it? Because your work doesn’t look like mine . . .”

“Well I found the diameter and multiplied it by pi,” he said.

“Right,” Eddie responded, looking somewhat puzzled. “The diameter.”

“. . . Multiplied by pi.”

“Right.”

Richie watched as he stared down at his forearms for a while, his eyebrows slowly furrowing before he looked back up at him. “You gonna look at your work, or,” Richie said.

“Well,  _ yeah _ , when you stop staring at me.”

“C’mon, Eds,” Richie said with a laugh. “We both know you didn’t do any of your work.”

“ _ Yeah _ , I  _ did _ ,” he argued, sliding his papers closer to himself on the desk. “Wouldya stop callin’ me that?”

“Then show me,” Richie said, ignoring the last part. He was practically smiling ear to ear as he watched the other boy’s ears turn pink with anger. When Eddie wouldn’t let up, he reached over and tried to pry his arms away.

“ _ No _ ,  _ Richie _ ,” he chastised, like he was talking to a dog.

He only gave another laugh as they both collectively were shoving at each other, fighting for the packet. Richie had somehow gotten ahold of it and tried to stiffly pull it his way. It was starting to crinkle and apparently one of them had ripped off a corner at some point. He started to hold it away from Eddie, only making the boy reach across him, his small torso against Richie’s chest. Richie nonchalantly reached his right arm around his shoulder blades, acting as if he was trying to pull his arm away. “Just let me see, you little shit-”

“ _ Richie _ , you  _ dumbass _ , give me my  _ fucking _ paper!” he nearly yelled, voice obviously trying to be whisper-quiet and failing, his hands actively grabbing.

He wouldn’t lie, the feeling of his small body against his own . . . he really liked it. “ _ No _ , not until you-”

“Boys!” Mrs. Norsh suddenly shouted, making the two jump in fright and sit up straight in their seats. The entire class went silent, Richie seeing nothing but eyes on him. She made an attempt at fastly moving over to them, failing as her old legs wouldn’t have it. It took a good seven seconds for her to get there, the wrinkles on her face intensifying. When she did though, she slammed her veiny hand down in front of Richie, Eddie almost jumping out of his skin next to him. “I will  _ not _ tolerate this kind of tomfoolery in my class! You two better behave if you want to pass this class. Next time, and you better hope there isn’t a next time, both of you are getting weekend detention.”

Richie could practically hear some of the other kids in the room give a gasp at ‘weekend detention’ and he had no clue what it meant, but hoped he would have the pleasure of finding it out for himself one day.

They all watched as she walked back to her desk, the only sound in the room was her grey-purple heels clacking on the tiled floor. Richie looked down in his hands, at Eddie’s crumpled paper between his fingers that didn’t, in fact, have any finished problems on it, only a few erased numbers under the first problem. Eddie, face on fire, quickly snatched it back, mumbling, “Nice going, Dipshit.”

“Yeah, well, at least I finished my work,” he said.

Eddie took his packet and ran it along the edge of the desk a few times, trying to straighten it out. “I couldn’t listen to her after I came into class like that. I couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

“You know, Pasta-brains, that’s the first almost  _ real  _ thing you’ve said to me.”

“Yeah, and what’s the realest thing you’ve said to me? Absolutely nothing.”

“Oh, here’s one thing. I fucked your mom.”

“Oh, shut _up,_ that's fucking disgusting. ”

It was mere moments before the third interruption of the class intervened, and it came in the form of a sweaty jock who looked surprisingly eager to get out of sight after he had passed a note to Mrs. Norsh. She adjusted her glasses, bringing the tiny slip of paper to her eyes then looked straight in Richie’s direction. “Eddie your mother is here to pick you up,” she said.

Richie’s eyebrows flew up as he turned to look back at the boy. Eddie looked just as surprised as him, but there was something different in his expression.  _ Something off _ . “Eds?” Richie said, voice sounding worried.

He looked back at him slowly and then the expression of normalcy clicked onto his face. “Doctor’s appointment.” He took another moment to just sit there before shoving his crumpled packet into his backpack, zipping it to throw over his shoulder as he stood and snatched his binder before leaving.

Richie, simply dumbfounded, watched him walk out of the classroom in a hurry.

-

Richie was the first out of the classroom when the bell rang, gripping his backpack straps as he headed out to the main hallway and turned left instead of right. His legs were moving on their own as he slipped passed a group of kids in the hallway consisting of just blonde girls, all just altered versions of the other. In the back of his thoughts, he knew that Victor Criss was behind him. Richie hadn’t even looked in his direction once during the class period but a few times he could feel him staring at the back of his neck. 

He kept going though, pushing through the big doors to where all the offices and to where the lunchroom was just down the hall. Richie slowed downed his pace immensely, almost tripping over his untied shoelace. He glanced behind him at the doors, which kept opening and closing. There was no sight of Victor.

Richie kept going forward to the main office to stand beside the window.  _ What am I doing? _ he thought, peeking inside.  _ Oh.  _ Eddie was stood there, next to the front desk as he chewed his pink lip, but Richie could hardly admire his figure, for another one had stepped in the way. An abnormally large one.

It was a woman who was wearing a thin flowered dress that hung off of her wide hips and swung with every small movement she made. Her curled brown hair was thin and greasy around her round face, unmoving as she talked. To Eddie. Richie’s eyes nearly popped out of his head when he realized,  _ That’s his fucking mom, isn’t it.  _ She made to turn to face the window, still spitting some kind of nonsense to Eddie which looked like it was upsetting him quite a bit. Richie jumped out of view, his back to the painted bricks by the office’s door. A few moments passed before it opened, shielding whoever’s view from the lanky boy.

“Mommy-,” Richie heard Eddie’s small voice say from the other side of the wood.

“ _ No _ , Eddie-Bear-”

_ Eddie-Bear!? _

“-I’ve told you already. We’re not supposed to talk about this here.” The woman’s voice sounded mocking, like she was talking to a boy  _ much _ younger than Eddie. Richie clenched his fists.

The door shut as they walked down the hallway, leaving Richie to stare after them. He nearly laughed at how small Eddie was compared to her, how thin and cute he was, and how she . . . was not. 

With the two of them out of view, he let out a sigh of relief and put his hands on his knees. This moment was cut short though, after the two doors leading into the office hallway squeaked as they were opened and closed again, by a voice he had heard many times before.

“Look who it is,” Henry Bowers’s voice called out, echoing against the bare walls.

Richie whipped his head up to see Henry, Victor, Belch, and Patrick standing in front of him, each with their own twisted smile on their face.

_ Oh fuck. _


	5. Wanna Take a Swim, Four-Eyes?

He was pushed into the bathroom mirror, forehead first, letting out a cry as his hip smashed into the porcelain of the sink as well. A sound like cracking ice had rung out as he gripped the wet surface. Richie tilted his chin up to look at his reflection which had a fresh hairline fissure across his head in the glass. He felt the warm liquid start to drip from below his hairline, watched as it ran against his nose and dipped into his nostril before slipping over his lips. The smell of copper was making him sick. 

Belch had his back against the door, stopping anyone from getting in, while the other three boys were behind Richie.

Richie smiled through the pain, the crimson fluid rushing between his off-white pearls. “Why?” he simply questioned shakily, watching their reflections.

“Why not?” Henry asked. Stepping forward, giving Richie no time to move, the older boy took the palm off his hand and smashed his face into the glass once more, making it crunch.

Dizzily, Richie fell onto the floor, his glasses flying next to him, broken. _What was that, the eighteenth pair?_ _I’ve lost count_. Suddenly the pain rushed into his brain like a flowing river and he grabbed his face, letting out an, “_Ahh_.” He shook his head back and forth slowly, trying to ease it. He wasn’t entirely sure, but he thought he could hear running water. Richie furrowed his dark eyebrows and tried to see what they were doing, but his eyes were useless without his glasses.

“Grab ‘em,” he heard Henry’s commanding voice say, before Richie was pulled to his shaky feet in front of the sink, Patrick holding his right arm back, Victor holding his left. The tall boy could vaguely see the outline of the bowl and realized that they had used the stopper to fill it to the brim with water.

“Wanna take a swim, Four-Eyes?” Henry asked, Patrick laughing behind him.

“ _ No, _ ” Richie let out, his voice wavering just before his head was plunged underwater. He forgot to hold his breath, breathing in a huge gulp of liquid that burned his throat before he was already violently tugged back out. Water splashed over the edge and onto the floor and he coughed some up, trying to rip his wrists free to no avail. Henry had a strong grip on the hair on the back of his head as he dunked him back under, pressing his nose against the metal plunger. Richie tried to jerk himself out, breathing in more water through his burning nose because he didn’t have time to breathe actual air while he was up, all noise muffled. He was pulled back up and pushed back under over and over again, eventually until he was choking and letting out muffled screams. Eventually, Henry seemed as if he wasn’t going to pull him back out.

Richie was counting the seconds he was under,  _ 20, 21, 22, 23, _ trying to find a way to endure the scorching sensation. He remembers thinking,  _ I think I’m going to die.  _ He watched himself as he started to fade away, maybe hearing voices shouting above him, he wasn’t sure,  _ 29, 30, 31, 32 . . . _

Richie was tugged back out and he gasped for breath so hard he choked and coughed and spit up water. Every breath he took was a gasp, actually, and he was dropped to his knees, letting him catch himself with one hand on the dirty floor, the other gripping his throat.

“Let’s go,” Belch ushered.

There was a pause before Richie was kicked in the side to land against where two stalls met with a thump, the groups' footsteps leaving him alone. 

His drenched hair stuck to the floor as he heaved, trying to slow himself down. After a few minutes he was able to gasp out a _ , “God . . . damn _ .” More hot blood squeezed from his forehead and into his hair. Everything seemed to burn, his throat, his nostrils, his stomach most noticeably. Richie’s ears were clogged and ringing and he just laid there for a while, staring up at the stained ceiling.

Eventually, painfully slowly, he sat up, his head beating a rhythm in his skull. There was a black blurry clump in the shadow of the sink and he reached for it, shaking it a few times to rid of possible glass, then he unfolded its arms to put his glasses on his face. Richie blinked a few times, seeing clearly through the left lens, but the right had multiple pieces missing, almost making a checkerboard of blurry and clear vision. Some part of them was bent, causing the right arm poking uncomfortably against the side of his head.

Richie stumbled to the sink, nearly slipping on wet tiles, to grab at the porcelain. He looked emotionlessly at himself in the mirror, which now had a spider-web pattern across it that warped his face, blood swept along his cheekbone and still dripping. “ _ Fuck _ , Tozier. Where have  _ you _ been?” he asked himself.

He left the bathroom and headed through the empty halls to his photography class, twenty-four minutes late.

-

When he entered the classroom all eyes were on him. Richie hadn’t even attempted to wipe any of the drying gunk off of his face and he smiled when they all stared up at him from their papers. “Ruh-Richie,” Bill stuttered out in shock as he sat next to him. “What did you do this time?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “ _ I _ didn’t do  _ any _ thing, Big Bill. Henry just felt the need to smash my face in the bathroom mirror and then practically drown me in the sink, is all.”

Ms. Williams had appeared next to him, brown eyes wide. “Are you okay? Do you need to go to the nurse’s office?” she asked, setting a hand on his boney shoulder.

Richie pulled away, brow furrowed.  _ This is new _ , he thought, thinking of every other adult in Derry who had turned a blind eye to the kind of shit their kids were put through every day. “I’m okay,” he responded.

She leaned back, eyebrows raised and then said, “Come with me.”

Richie followed her into the room in the back (after he waggled his eyebrows at Bill suggestively, then winced from the pain in his face after he moved it), first having the walk through a short twisting hallway, its walls painted black. He mumbled, “What the fuck,” as they came into an all-black room, one where he could barely see in.

Ms. Williams flicked on the light and said, “Welcome to the darkroom.”

Richie looked around, taking in everything. There was an island in the middle, separated by a small wall, both sides having four short tubs filled with some kind of liquid set on top. Around the walls of the room, set on a continuous counter with countless drawers, there was the same machine again and again. "Aren't you supposed to keep the lights off?" Richie asked.

“Only when we’re developing photos,” she answered, motioning him to the other side of the room.

He followed her instructions, eyes still glued to the oddities around him. He snatched a small item on the way, twirling it around his fingers. "What's this?"

"It's to check if your photo is blurry under the enlarger. Now, Richie-"

"What's an enlarger?"

"That's what these machines are-"

"But what do they  _ do _ ?"

"Well, we’ll be learning about that in a few weeks, but-”

“Do we each get our own cameras? What kind are they? What happens if we break them because I’m going to have to get new glasses soon and my dad will not be happy also paying for a broken camera-”

“ _ Richie _ ,” she said, sternly. “Just listen.” Ms. Williams snatched some paper towel from the rack and wet it under the sink she was next to before handing it to him. “Oh, hold on,” she said, standing up on her tip-toes to open and reach into the cabinet.

The woman was short,  _ not shorter than Eddie, though _ , and her straight black hair was pulled into a low ponytail, hanging between her shoulder blades. She had thin bangs which, to Richie at least, was an obvious cover-up for her high forehead. Like the day prior, she wore clothes fit for a grandmother, a sweater over her collared shirt on top of a knee-length tube skirt. Ms. Williams was overall pretty, but almost in . . . a motherly way. 

“Here, clean all that . . .  _ muck _ off,” she said, passing him a pocket mirror.

Richie laughed, furrowing his brows. “I think you mean blood.” He flicked the mirror open and looked at his reflection close up. “ _ Ech _ .” Blood was caked in his hairline and inside his nose (which almost looked broken) and across his cheek. He squinted his eyes, almost unsure if he was actually seeing what he thought he was. There were a few minuscule chunks of glass partially stuck into his forehead, one on the bridge of his nose. Richie sighed, placing the paper towels down before leaning his elbows on the counter to get a better angle. He raised his hand up, thumb and pointer finger out, to pick the first piece of glass out with his nails. It didn’t hurt, but Ms. William’s wince from beside him made him think it should’ve.

“What happened?” she asked, looking away.

Richie shrugged. He plucked another shard of glass out, one above his eyebrow.

“Did someone hurt you? A bully?”

He let out a huff of a laugh. “A  _ bully _ ? I’m not five, you know,” he said, looking at her before going back to work.

“Listen, Richie-”

“Why’re you talking to me like . . . like you’re my friend? What happened to Mr. Tozier, or  _ Richard, I’m sending you to detention-” _

“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what happened,” she stated clearly, shaking her head.

A  _ tick  _ sounded, Richie mumbling, “That kinda hurt,” after he dropped the largest piece of glass from his nose on the countertop. “There isn’t anything you can do,” he told her. He took the wet paper towels and cleaned up the scabbed blood around his face. He left the area in the middle of his forehead alone, the place that had taken the most damage, where the skin had split and caused most of the blood. “Welp, thanks Teach,” he said, brushing the glass into the palm of his hand and throwing it away in the trash can with the towels. 

She had tried to tell him something but he exited the darkroom, hearing her voice fading, and just like that left the school building to have a smoke under the bleachers.

-

Richie had stayed outside the last period and a half, just sitting in the grass and gladly feeling the cool breeze partially relieve the aching of his face. He would’ve completely blown off school if he could afford to skip detention. But, he knew, if he had it pushed to the next day, Friday,  _ I will be absolutely pissed. _

So, at the end of the day when the final bell rang, Richie headed inside of the building and walked to the library. Kids kept staring at him from the other side of the hall, furrowing their brows and gasping, the girl with the pink streaks in her hair from his geometry class even looked surprised when she saw him, until her eyebrows dropped and she waved her manicured hand at him seductively. He winked at her before heading into the library, which was basically just a small room with way too many bookshelves. Richie stopped at the front (only) desk and stood there.

It was Gretta Keene on the other side, who was only a grade higher than him and used to pick on Beverly all the time in middle school. She was resting her chin on her hand, flipping through a magazine. 

Richie blinked a few times before noticing the golden call bell on the desk, delightfully smiling that they had one, and then slapped his hand down it first, before dinging it over and over again.

Gretta slowly looked up at him, chewing on her trademark bubblegum. He remembered when she stuck that same type of gum in his friend’s red hair and remembered watching Stan carefully cut it out. “What do you want, Dick-for-Brains?” she sighed.

“Detention,” he said, tapping the bell once more.

She angrily reached out to snatch it, dragging it back so it fell on the floor next to her with a clang. Gretta took her time, pulling out a notebook that had a few names written on it. She scanned her eyes down before writing a check next to one of them with a red pen.

“Don’t you work at your dad’s pharmacy?” Richie wondered out loud.

“Needed a little extra cash.” She limply pointed behind her. “In there,” Gretta mumbled, going back to reading her magazine.

He headed around the desk to the door she had pointed at, sighing.  _ Probably gonna make me write ‘I will not speak unless spoken to’ a hundred times. In cursive.  _ Richie stepped inside, closing the door behind him. There were two kids there already, a girl with dark brown matted hair whose arms were crossed tightly over her chest, and a guy whose eyes were squinted and red as he looked around the classroom slowly.

The teacher looked up at him from his book, hard angry eyes watching him. He wore a button-up shirt and had wide shoulders that did not fit with his abnormally small head. 

Richie moved to the back of the class and slumped down in the corner seat, dropping his backpack by his feet and staring off through the window. He folded his arms on the desk to lay his aching head on, now only seeing the sky behind the glass, the sun shining on his face. A sigh pushed its way past his lips.  _ We’re not supposed to talk about this here,  _ Eddie’s mother had said. _ What did that mean?  _ he wondered.  _ What were they not supposed to talk about? _

_ Why’re you so obsessed with him? _ the kid from his class’s voice suddenly blurt out in his head. Riche clenched his eyes shut.  _ Because I want to be his friend. _

_ His friend? _

_ Yes. _

_ No. _

_ Why else would I be worried for someone I just met? He’s a cool guy- _

_ No. _

Images started to flash through his mind, almost like a projector flashes across a screen, clicking every time it changed. Eddie’s eyes staring softly at him.  _ Click. _ Eddie's red freckled cheeks.  _ Click.  _ Eddie’s cute fanny pack.  _ Click _ . Eddie’s pretty face.  _ Click.  _ His small smile.  _ Click. _ His pink lips.  _ Click.  _ His laugh- _ Click.  _ His ha- _ Click.  _ His- _ Click. Click. Click-click-click-click-cli- _

Richie’s eyes flung open as he sat up abruptly.

This was going to be a long hour.

-

After detention, he nearly tripped out of the school, glad to be free from that hell. The sun had started to beat down and he shielded the brightness from his eyes, squinting. He narrowed his gaze even more, seeing three figures standing by the bike rack. He let out a laugh of relief as he got closer, face throbbing. “Hey,” Richie called out. “What’re you guys doin’ here?”

It was Bev, Stan, and Bill, of course, the three of them waiting for him.

They met him halfway, Beverly coming up to him and observing his face. “Just thought we’d walk you home.” She reached up to grab his chin, moving it so his head turned from side to side.

“I’m  _ fine, mother _ ,” Richie said.

“That must be, what, your tenth pair of glasses that you’ve broken?” Stan asked, smirking as Beverly let go.

Richie had smiled and hooked his arm around Stanley’s neck, pulling him along, Bill and Bev walking on his right. “Not the last pair, that’s for sure.”

-

When Richie came home that day he went straight to the couch to watch television. His mom was not home, most likely out with one of her drunkard friends, and his dad would be at work until seven. His backpack was thrown to the floor, limp next to the small table between the couch and TV, and he moved to lay on his side, resting his head slowly on the throw pillow. Richie turned on the news channel, too lazy to actually  _ watch  _ something, partially because he just wanted to close his eyes and will away his forehead pain. Every light in his home was off, except for the light behind his eyelids, the flashing and changing of the commercials.

Richie had almost drifted asleep until he had heard a familiar name from the TV. His eyebrows furrowed as he squinted, his vision coming back to him. He caught on to what the reporter on the channel was saying, a man’s picture next to her thin figure.

“ _ -officially been ruled as an accident. Frank Kaspbrak tragically left behind his wife and child just a month ago today, the retired firefighter unfairly taken from them due to yet another drunk driving incident. His death marked the third automobile accident this year, a new record for the small town- _ ”

Richie jumped up, his glasses nearly flying from his face before he frantically reached up to hold them in place. He stared at the photo of the man that was next to the news reporter, taking in everything he could before it disappeared from the screen. He was handsome, brown hair with a slightly receding hairline from aging, a few greys here and there. Wearing a grin, his white teeth partially flashed under his lip. The man had brown eyes, smile wrinkles topping it all off. 

Richie had known, he  _ knew  _ he had heard the name Kaspbrak before. 

On the news,  _ it was on the news. _

His jaw nearly hit the floor.

Because that man was Eddie’s father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm kinda proud of this chapter so don't hate it too bad m8s lol


	6. No, Richie, I'm Not Kidding

What had almost surprised Richie as much as the information he now knew, was the way Eddie had reacted to his face. The bruises had started to appear in deeper colors on his forehead and nose, purple and blue and black tie-dye. There was a bandaid under the bridge of his broken glasses that he continued to wear.

Eddie had dropped his backpack to the ground and thudded down in his seat before the boy could even explain the cause of his wounds, and eagerly grabbed his face to bring it close to his.

“ _ Ow-” _

“What _ happened?  _ Are those cuts? Did you fall? Did someone do this? Did you go to the doctor-” His eyes were frantically traveling his features.

Richie couldn’t breathe all of the sudden, feeling almost as if there was a pillow pressed to his mouth, stopping the air intake. He didn’t hear the boy for a few moments, only feeling the weight of his hands against his cheeks. A thought passed his mind, that Eddie must feel the sudden heat radiating from beneath his freckles. Words didn’t even try to accumulate because he was so stunned.

“-Are you listening to me, you  _ dip _ ?” Eddie asked, dropping his hands.

He nearly coughed up the words, saying, “Bowers slammed my face against the bathroom mirror,” surprised at himself for not lying, a small part of him wishing he did.

Eddie’s eyebrows scrunched together, creating an angry wrinkle between them. “Did you get all the glass out?” he asked.

Richie shrugged, thinking,  _ why haven’t I ever paid attention to how cute his button nose is? Have I? Because it’s almost weird how perfect it- _

“ _ Richie _ , you need to make sure all of the glass is out,” he whined. “Did you even clean it? You didn’t, did you, you’re gonna get an infection!”

He had smiled back at him, completely ignoring what he was trying to tell him. But Richie’s heart then lurched, remembering the previous night.  _ Frank Kaspbrak tragically left behind his wife and child just a month ago today, the retired firefighter unfairly taken from them due to yet another drunk driving incident.  _ What was he to say? What could Richie do to make it better?  _ Maybe he doesn’t even like his dad _ , he thought.  _ But what if he does? What if his father was the one person he could always go to when something went wrong, when Eddie needed help?  _ He had wondered that the entire day and over the next three weeks.

Richie had started to walk Eddie to his classes, carrying his stuff, the spitfire originally refusing, eventually giving in because he was too fed up with dropping his things in the hallway because of his cast. Richie hadn’t brought up the figure in the kid’s window or his mother or his father to him and settled on never actually doing it, deciding that Eddie would  _ eventually _ tell him what in the hell was going on.

He had finally met this  _ Ben _ that Beverly had gone on and on about. He was a quiet kid with a slightly chubby build, average height, maybe a little bit on the short side. Richie was apprehensive meeting him at first, unsure if he was really fit for Bev. But then he realized he was totally in love with her. He was blushing all the time and staring at her face, eyes burning a hole in her skin basically. He could tell that they both wanted to date and wondered,  _ Are they really that oblivious? Just hook up already. It’s not that hard _ .

Richie was totally on board for their relationship but it didn’t seem like Stan was so quick to make a decision. His eyebrows were down as he watched them, arms crossed. Stan  _ had _ been friends with Beverly for the longest, they knew everything about each other, so Richie didn’t blame him.

Eddie and Richie continued their dynamic, bantering and all, in the time being. Richie felt something over the weeks festering nervously around in his stomach in which he didn’t pay any attention to. Mostly because he was too afraid to.

Like the first time they had changed in the locker room, the feeling was overwhelming him. They hadn’t spoke the entire time they were in there, let alone let their eyes waver to the other. At least that was what Richie thought until he couldn’t help it anymore, sneaking a glance at the boy next to him. The problem was, Eddie had also decided to look at him at that moment, right as Richie’s eyes had slipped down to see him pulling on his gym shorts over the smooth expanse of skin on his thighs. Eddie had  _ seen _ him looking at him and Richie was absolutely ruined the entirety of the period, an utter mess. Whether it was because he had been caught or because of what he had witnessed, he didn’t know.  _ Both _ .

Trying to rid that of his memories, he continued their friendship as if nothing had happened.

It was after these three weeks that everything had started to unravel, and it had started with one simple question:

“Do you think when I come to your house tomorrow your mom’ll let me hit it?” 

Eddie had nearly exploded right there at the bus stop. The tips of his ears had flooded with pink and his lips pulled back in anger. “Listen here, you absolute fucking  _ menace _ ,” he started, voice hushed so no one else could hear. “The only reason you’re even  _ coming _ over is because she won’t be there and we need to work on our homework.”

“Sure, sure,  _ homework _ . Is that what they call it where you’re from, Eds? Because here they call it  _ fu- _ ”

“Trashouth, if you don’t stop talking I  _ will _ push you in front of the bus.”

“Go ahead, Eddie Spaghetti,  _ I’m a lover, not a fighter _ .”

That was another thing, Eddie had taken to calling Richie  _ Trashmouth _ , something his friends had said to him a few times over the years because of how much he ran his mouth. And he absolutely  _ loved  _ it. Richie had been calling Eddie a multitude of nicknames since they met and for the boy to do it back? It made that queasy feeling in his stomach even more excited.

-

On Saturday Richie headed over to Eddie’s house, backpack on and a pack of cigarettes in his back pocket. It was around three in the afternoon (when he was  _ supposed _ to be there) when he left, the warm breeze trying its best to calm down his nerves. It didn’t work.

The only reason he had left late was because he had stared at the clock for too long, leg bouncing up and down in a rhythm. When it was fifteen minutes to three and he was about to leave, Richie had realized he hadn’t gotten  _ any _ of his things together to bring.  _ Shit. _

Eddie’s house was a warm brown color, a set of green painted steps up to his door, the small patio surrounded by thin trees. Richie tripped up the driveway, legs wobbly as he nervously mumbled, “ _ You fuckin’ pussy _ ,” before stopping in his tracks. His arms seemed to work by himself to drop his backpack to the ground, slipping his cigarettes and lighter from his pocket to try to ease his anxiety. Richie spun around, his back to the house, whilst pulling his last smoke out with the lighter alongside it. Flicking it open (It was his father’s old metal one in which he had  _ borrowed _ ) he tried to light it, flame wavering in his unsteady hand. Once the cigarette sizzled he snapped it back shut with a  _ clink _ and returned it into where it lived, his pocket. Richie breathed the chemicals in slowly, holding it in between his two fingers. He adjusted his cracked glasses with his knuckle on his other hand.

Unexpectedly, the abrupt sound of the door opening could be heard from behind him. Richie threw his head over his shoulders, saying, “Oh  _ hey _ , Eds-”

Eddie had almost fallen down the steps, coming to his side to snatch the cigarette out of Richie’s hand and then violently chuck it out into the wet grass.

“What the  _ hell _ -”

“ _ You smoke _ ?” Eddie nearly yelled. He looked angrier than Richie had ever seen him, mouth open in shock, hand swatting away the cloud of smoke that still floating in the air away from his face.

His hands floated up in between them dumbly. “Well . . .  _ yeah? _ I’m pretty sure I’ve mentioned it to you before.”

“I thought you were kidding! Like,  _ ‘Oh I fucked your mom last night’ _ , or,  _ ‘My dick’s so big I could blah blah blah- _ ”

“I never kid, my dear Eds. I smoke, I’ve got a big dick, and, yes, I’ve gotten down and dirty with Mrs. Kaspbrak, so what?”

Eddie smacked him in the arm before sticking his finger out towards the other’s face. “Stop smoking.” He spun around to stomp angrily up the steps, all the while mumbling, “Just come inside.”

The inside of Eddie’s house was tidy, the living area just to the right when they walked in. There was an armchair and a small bookshelf set in the room but Richie didn’t have much time to look as he was pulled down the hallway. He caught a glimpse of the kitchen as they turned into a room, Eddie looking nervous as he shut the door behind them. “Didn’t you say your mom was going to be home really late?” Richie asked. Eddie’s room was painted a light green, walls devoid of any posters. His bed was up against the wall in the corner, on the edge of the bed was his window. It was the cleanest he’d ever seen a room (Stan’s would be a close contender, but his was more orderly than  _ clean _ ), not a speck of dust anywhere. It smelled like lemon scented floor cleaner in there.

“Yeah but she’s insane so she could literally walk through the door right now and we’d be fucked,” he admitted, before gesturing for Richie to take his shoes off, irritated.

He laughed and kicked them off, pushing the beat-up sneakers next to the door with his socked foot. He looked up, trying to speak before catching something with his eyes. “What’s that?”

Eddie’s eyebrows (which were almost . . .  _ long? Why does that make them so pretty? I mean, not pretty, that’s not what I meant, they’re not pretty, I didn’t mean that I find Eddie pretty or anything, no, I would never-I didn’t mean- _ ) scrunched up and he asked, “What’s what?”

Richie took a step forward to look at Eddie’s cast. He had never gotten any signatures on it, Richie knew, but there was writing right smack dab in the center of it. In big capital letters, it read,  _ LOSER _ . Richie felt his insides twist with confusion and hurt. “Who wrote that?” he quietly asked, fingers lightly sweeping over it.

“Oh,” he said. “That.” Eddie pulled his arm away, saying, “Just Gretta, you know, who works at Keene’s? She said she would sign it and instead she . . . well, you know.” He gave a laugh that was devoid of joy.

“What a bi-”

Eddie took in a deep breath to let out a gag and then covered his mouth with the palm of his hand. “And then she stuck her gum on it,” he said, voice muffled. He turned and sped over to his desk, grabbing his fanny pack that was sat upon it. The small boy unzipped it quick to pull out his inhaler and release it between his lips.

“Oh  _ shit _ ,” Richie said, laughing.

“It’s not  _ funny _ , dickhead,” Eddie spit. “She just  _ yanked it _ outta her mouth and I had to clean it off afterwards.” He gave a visible shudder.

“No, it’s pretty funny,” he said absent-mindedly. He had noticed something else. Over Eddie’s shoulder, on top of his dresser. There was a picture frame. He had to squint to see it, due to his glasses, but the picture had been pretty clear to make out. It was Eddie and his father.

Eddie had seen him contemplating this and peaked around his thin shoulder slowly. He stared for a few moments before returning his gaze to Richie. The boy’s lips parted for a moment before he quietly told him, “We should start on our homework,” eyes downcast.

Richie’s own eyes widened as he eventually nodded. “Uh . . . sure.”

-

“Yeah, I definitely finished all of this already.”

“What?  _ How? _ ”

The two of them were sat on Eddie’s bed, up against the wall with their homework in their laps. Richie was leaning over, elbows on his knees (he was sitting cross-legged), the other’s knees pulled up almost against his torso, his notebook on his thighs. Richie’s head was turned to curiously watch the other, who was completely freaking out.

“I was bored yesterday in photography so I finished it,” he replied.

“You were  _ bored _ ?” Eddie asked, ignoring the fact that Richie had still come to his house to work on his homework even though he had already finished it. He let out a frustrated groan. “How do you get it so fast? You got an A on the test and you didn’t even study!”

“Hey, you got an A too.”

“Only ‘cause I stayed up until midnight the night before studying. I felt like I was being frickin’ brainwashed.”

Richie blinked a few times, staring at Eddie’s little pout before sitting up straight. He leaned towards the other, pressing their shoulders together to look at the problem he was working on. He ignored how he could now smell him, the scent like fresh laundry straight from the wash. Richie clicked his tongue a few times, the other going oddly still, before he said, “What the fuck did you do?”

“ _ I don’t know! _ ”

“Why is the point all the way on the other side of the graph?”

“ _ I have no fucking clue! _ ”

“Listen here, Eds,” Richie started, not even noticing that he had wrapped his arm around Eddie’s shoulders to point at the problem, “What’s that coordinate right there?”

“Uh.” He brought his own hand up, visibly smaller, to trace down the graph, mumbling under his breath. “Six three.”

“Yeah, and the scale factor?”

“A third.” 

Their fingers brushed.

Richie gulped.

“Yeah-” (voice crack), “Yes. Now just multiply the x and y of the coordinate by a third.”

“And then . . . ?”

“And then that’s it. You just plot the new point. Boom.”

“That’s it?” Eddie asked softly, looking up at him, brown eyes against brown.

_ Wait, why are we so close right now?  _ “Mhm,” he sounded, breathing in through his nose. The room was too quiet, not even a clock to pass the time by ticking. They were staring at each other for way too long, Richie’s heart beating in his ears way too fast,  _ thump thump thumpthumpthump- _ Eddie’s eyelids were too low and his long eyebrows were screwed together too tight and he could suddenly feel hot breath against his lips-

Richie pulled away, clearing his throat and sticking his hands in his lap. His face was burning. So was Eddie’s. “ _ Hey _ , where’s your bathroom?”

-

“You fuckin’ weirdo,” he whispered to his reflection. “You  _ idiot _ .”

He had splashed cold water on his face at least half a dozen times, trying to rid it of that tingly red-tinged feeling. Gripping the porcelain, hands slippery, it made him think of when Henry was plunging his sopping head into the sink. He studied himself in the mirror, his bruises now faded yellow splotches. Richie was still waiting for his next pair of glasses from the optometrist so he was stuck with the broken ones which pressed into his temple at an awkward angle and made it hard for him to see anything because one lense was broken. He sighed.    
  
What a great start to high school.   
  


A sudden knock came from the other side of the bathroom door. “Richie?” Eddie called. “Douchebag, you’ve been in there for like thirty minutes.”

“Sorry, Eds, just needed to take a huge shit is all-”

“You’re  _ disgusting _ , you know that-”

Richie hurriedly opened the door and popped out of the bathroom, flipping the light off as he went and wiping his hands on his jeans. “What, were you worried about me or something?”

Eddie’s lips parted in shock as he took a step back and looked away. “ _ No _ . Just worried you died or something. I was already coming up with a plan on where to hide the body,” he joked.

Richie let out a hiccup of laughter. “Wouldn’t doubt it,” he said as they walked back to his room. “You finish that homework yet, or’ve you given up? You know, I won’t be mad if you wanna copy mine, I  _ am _ like the smartest person in our class-”

Eddie had rushed over to the bed to snatch his sheet of homework and spun around, a triumphant ( _ cute _ ) look on his face. And every problem was filled out. 

Richie couldn’t help but smile, unable to spit out another joke as the boy usually would. He just let a breath out through his nose and softly said, “Hey, nice job, Spaghetti.”

“Don’t call me that,” Eddie responded, and he continued to smile.

-

Deciding he didn’t want to go home just yet, Richie had stayed at Eddie’s. He was sprawled out on the bed on his stomach, legs stretched all the way to the headboard, knees having to be turned and slightly bent because of their length. He was leaning forwards with his head in his hands again, watching Eddie steer around the room. 

“Ooh, and this is my favorite comic book,” Eddie said quite shyly, looking into his drawer.

“Hand it over here, Pip,” Richie said, reaching out with his left hand to grab at the air a few times.

Eddie grimaced. “ _ Pip? _ ”

“Short for Pipsqueak,” Richie said, smile growing. “Now hand me that comic book,  _ my good sir _ .”

Eddie’s head fell back onto his shoulders as he let out a huff of annoyance. “You know, it would be great if you would stop that,” he mumbled, snatching the graphic novel from the drawer (before hip-checking it closed) then walking to the bed to hand it to Richie. “Wrinkle, rip, or smudge any of the pages and you’re  _ dead. _ ”

“Yeah, yeah,” Richie said as he took it, examining the front cover. The bed creaked as Eddie sat by his shoulder, eyeing him. “Wait,  _ Spider-Man _ ? What’s so special about this?” he asked, turning to the other, bewildered that Eddie’s ‘favorite comic book’ was just a regular old Spider-Man. It had even come out that year.

He watched as Eddie sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, brows furrowed as he looked to the floor. “I just like Spider-Man, okay?” He took the comic back, a little forcefully. The boy held it in his hands, doe eyes scanning it over.

“You have like a Spider-Man fetish or something? Oh I got it, you want Peter Parker to shoot his web-”

“ _ Stop talking _ .”

Richie quirked an eyebrow up at him, watching as the other stared at the cover art in which the web-slinging hero flew through the air on a block of concrete, the Green Goblin following close behind. “Eds, that’s literally the third part. D’you even have the ones before it?”

Eddie let his shoulders slump down. “ _ No _ .”

“Dude, then why-” Richie stopped himself, noticing how the other boy’s eyes were beginning to shine, lip giving a miniscule quiver. Richie immediately brought himself to sit up, eyes wide.  _ Oh shit _ , he thought, feeling responsible. He scooched to sit next to Eddie, their arms pressed together. The boy’s jaw was clenched, like he was trying to keep himself together, in one piece. “Eddie . . .” Richie had started. He didn’t know what to say next, racking his brain for anything. “What’s wrong?” he eventually decided on, voice wavering.

“ _ Nothing’s _ wrong, Richie.” Eddie turned his head to the left, hiding his face.

“Well, it doesn’t seem like nothing’s wrong, Eds. You seem pretty upset.”

“ _ Well, I’m not _ . So just  _ lay off _ .”

Richie leaned back, eyes traveling the white ceiling as he tried to weigh the options.  _ Push him or let it go?  _ Apparently, his mind had already made the decision, because he blurted out, “You can tell me, you know? Be-because I know, well for me I guess, it’s really hard for me to  _ tell _ people what’s got me upset.” He rubbed the back of his neck shyly. He was clenching his eyes shut because just saying that was hard for him. 

_ Why am I telling him this?  _

_ Because it’s Eddie. _

“But after I do, I feel a little better.” Richie slowly opened his eyes, just in time to see the single tear roll down Eddie’s cheek as he stared at him. 

He quickly swiped it away, blowing a shaky breath through his lips. His face was red, hot. Eddie seemed to contemplate Richie’s words, looking over the comic book with his wet eyes, chewing on his lip. “I . . .” He looked to Richie, eyebrows furrowed. “My dad gave it to me,” he whispered.

And all of the sudden it made sense. Richie nearly choked in realization.  _ He’s actually gonna tell me _ . He watched as Eddie’s lips pulled back, ready to sob something out.  _ No, Eds, you don’t have to tell me, I’m sorry, you don’t have to- _

“ _ He’s gone, Richie, he’s-” _

Richie methodically fell forwards, wrapping his arms around the small boy who quickly reached his hands around his neck to tug at the back of Richie’s shirt, trying to pull him closer. The comic book fell to the bed with a thump. He started to heave with sobs, hiding his face in his neck. Richie held him with care, firmly pressing his hands against him, his own heart breaking in the meantime. He was completely shocked, completely in awe of how different this Eddie was from the one he knew, and he was strong,  _ so  _ much stronger than Richie had given him credit for.

“ _ He’s dead _ ,” he sobbed, letting all his weight (which wasn’t much) be cradled by Richie. “ _ He’s-” _

“I know,” he said quietly, and he  _ did _ . And he was  _ sorry _ . More sorry than he had ever been, and this new realization made Richie nearly cry with him. He had also noticed that Eddie was hiding himself, sobbing  _ hard _ .  _ Is this the first time he’s letting this all out? _ It sure seemed like it. Eddie’s body was shaking as he cried, mumbling and incoherently saying things, gasping for breath. His cast was pressing into Richie’s back uncomfortably, but he barely noticed, focusing on holding Eddie properly. 

It was until a few minutes later that Eddie had calmed down a little, enough to clearly say something to Richie’s neck. “I’m pretty sure it was the mafia or something.”

Richie gave a small huff of laughter against his hair and tried to keep his hold on him, but Eddie pulled away.

“No, really, Richie.”

The tall boy had smiled at him once more, giving a soft chuckle in response.

Eddie was holding on to his arms still and he shook his head. “No,  _ Richie _ , I’m not kidding,” he said, eyes still shiny.

Richie’s smile flickered, eyebrows twitching down. “What?”

“Like, I dunno, the mafia? Or whoever-”

“ _ What? _ ” His jaw actually dropped, eyes widening. “You’re still kidding, right Eds? You’re joking around? ‘Cause this isn’t really-”

Richie had stopped himself, seeing the look in the other’s eyes, a look of  _ fear _ and,  _ I shouldn’t have said anything. _

Richie said nothing, really fucking confused.

_ What the fuck have I just gotten myself into? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to get this chapter out, I took my time on this one :)


	7. Where Do We Start?

“Okay, let me get this straight,” Richie said. He was standing in the middle of Eddie’s bedroom, eyes not on the other boy but traveling the floor as he contemplated what he had been told. He tilted his chin up, running his fingers through his dark curls, pushing them away from his face and making his bangs slightly messy. “You think your dad was killed by the mafia, because, what, you saw some shady guys talking to him? Eds, you can’t be serious.”

Eddie stood from his bed, crossing his arms. “Okay, first, you  _ asshole _ , I told you it wasn’t actually the mafia, I just didn’t know what to call them, so stop acting like I’m  _ out of my damn mind _ . And they weren’t just shady guys, they were . . . I don’t know okay. All I know is that I saw them talking to my dad more than once.” He pressed the palms of his hands against his face and let out a groan. “And they were saying it was his fault,” he mumbled.

“What?”

Eddie let his hands drop down to his sides, face red from all the excitement. “The police said that it was my dad’s fault. The car crash. They told my mom and I that his blood alcohol concentration was really high.”

“Okay? So-”

“My dad doesn’t drink.”

Richie contemplated this for a moment before saying, “Are you sure he didn’t stop by the bar for a drink or something? I mean, it wouldn’t have been that big of a deal at the time-”

Eddie shook his head. “No, he would never.  _ Never _ .”

Richie felt his stomach churn with something. He watched Eddie for a while, both silent. It had gotten a little darker outside, the sun that had been covered by clouds all day trying to disappear. 

Eddie shook his head once more. “Never mind, Richie. I shouldn’t have . . . It’s not your problem-”

“I’ll help you,” he interrupted. Richie didn’t know where this had come from, but he knew he didn’t like the look of utter sadness on the other’s face.

“ . . . What?”

“Whatever you need. I’ll help you,” he said. “Like, if you just need someone to talk to. Or if you really wanna find out what happened to your dad, I’ll do that too. Promise.”

Eddie’s eyebrows furrowed. “Why?”

Richie shrugged. “‘Cause we’re friends.” He could hear a voice practically screaming with laughter in the back of his head.

Eddie slowly nodded, lips parting. “Yeah. Okay.”

He stood there for a few moments before saying, “Well, I should probably get going.” He gave a small smile, before turning around to snatch his backpack from the ground and then tug his shoes back on. He grabbed the metal doorknob, glancing back over his shoulder once more before turning it and stepping out.

“Hey, Rich,” Eddie called.

_ He called me Rich _ . Richie turned to the side, peering into the room. “Huh?”

Eddie bit his lip, very slightly bouncing on his heels in the cute way that he did sometimes, before saying, “Thank you.”

Richie felt a smile grow on his face. “No problem, Eds,” he said wholeheartedly.

Eddie softly rolled his eyes, lips turned up.

Richie then left finally, that same smile glued to his face.

-

“Your teacher called.”

Richie rolled his eyes, letting his elbow thump down to the armrest, his head tilted to face the window. “Oh yeah? Which one?” he asked, not really caring about what his father was saying, just amusing him. 

“Mrs. Norsh?”

_ Oh goddamn it. _

“She said that you've been acting inappropriately in her class and if you keep it up she's dropping you," his father, Wentworth Tozier, told him, eyes fixated on the road.

Now, the last thing Richie wanted was to be dropped from the class. Not because he actually cared about what his teacher said or what she thought of him (he could care less about that) but because that would mean one less class with Eddie. “Good,” he said. “Let her.”

“Richie, you need to start caring about your schoolwork. College,” he said sternly.

“Yeah,” he murmured absentmindedly. Richie had more important things to think about than college at the moment, like how to help Eddie with his problem. The night prior had been a punch to the gut for him, Richie anxious about what the two of them were getting themselves into.  _ Okay, _ he thought.  _ If this really is some sort of shady mafia situation, then wouldn’t that put us in danger, too? Is this the best idea? Shouldn’t we leave it alone? But . . .we can’t can we. _ I _can't. _ _ Eddie deserves to know what happened to his dad. How are we even supposed to find out? What does Eddie’s mom think of this? _

_ No, Eddie-Bear, I’ve told you already. We’re not supposed to talk about this here. _

Richie furrowed his brows as he remembered what Eddie’s mom had told him outside of the school’s main office.  _ He’s not telling me something _ .  _ What did she mean by- _

“How’s she doing?” his father interrupted.

Richie felt himself clench his fists in frustration. “Shouldn’t you know? She’s  _ your _ wife,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Yeah, and she’s your mother. I can’t be home as much as I’d like to-”

_ As much as you’d like to? Bullshit. If you were home as much as you’d like to be you’d be long gone. _

“-so I can’t see to it that she’s getting better. This morning she seemed better, don’t you think so?” he asked, sounding sickeningly hopeful, making Riche cringe. 

“She hasn’t even been up for thirty minutes, Dad. She’s probably pouring herself a glass of wine as we speak. Probably be plastered when I get home,” he mumbled.

He heard his dad give a large huff of air, a short silence passing between them. “Look, Richie, I’m  _ trying _ .” They had reached the front of the school, the car slowing to a stop, Richie's hand on the door handle. “Richie,” he gently ushered.

The lanky boy breathed slowly in through his nose, collecting himself before turning to look at his father.

“I’m trying,” he repeated. “Just give me a little slack, Kiddo. I’ve got to basically run the place at work and I know you don’t want excuses, but it’s true. It’s a lot, with your mom and me and things are a little crazy right now,  _ I know _ , believe me,” he said, talking with his hands. “But I drove you to school, huh? It’s better than nothing.”

Richie pushed open the door before saying, “Totally. Nothing would make me happier than having to endure a car ride with you,” and stepped out, gripping his backpack strap and forcefully slamming the door behind him. 

-

Leaning over his desk, Richie was frantically writing numbers down, trying to do mental math as fast as he could. He could hear the hurried clacking of Eddie typing things into his calculator next to him and let out an amused huff of laughter. “Answer?”

“Uh . . .” (more clacking), “23.47,” Eddie answered.

Richie wrote it down, waiting for Eddie to do so as well, and then took a moment to appreciate their work. They had finished the entire worksheet together in about fifteen minutes, leaving time at the end of the period for them to do as they please. Which was, of course, figure out what the hell they were going to do.

“ _ Jesus _ , I feel like we’re in a movie right now,” Richie said.

“Where do we start?” he asked, ignoring him. He had a slightly sorrowful look to his face, one that was present but more background noise than out in the open. He was folding and unfolding the corner of his page over and over again, fingers moving rapidly.

“Well,” Richie started, lowering his voice. He racked his brain for something that might help them. “Did your dad have any close friends? What about when he was-” He stopped himself from saying,  _ working as a firefighter _ . Eddie had never told him about his father’s profession, Richie had heard it on the news along with his death. He felt disingenuine for not telling him that he had already known and now it was too late to say anything, because then it would be a lie. “Working,” he said simply. “Friends from work,” he specified.

Eddie squinted his eyes, thinking. “Well, he quit his job, like, eight months ago.”

Richie lifted his eyebrows. “Maybe that’s why.”

“Why what?”

“Could someone’ve been angry that he quit?” he asked, looking at the other two who sat at their table, searching for any sign of them listening in on their conversation. The kid in front of him was passed out, the girl staring down at her paper confusedly. He turned to look at Mrs. Borsh, who’s eyelids were heavy as she stared at the wall. 

“Maybe. The guys didn’t really like him there.”

Richie turned back to him. “Uh- Where did he work?”

“He was a fireman,” he said, and smiled. “My mom hated it.”

“What about you?” Richie asked, “Did you hate it?” He observed the look of pure adoration that Eddie got when he talked about his father. Richie couldn’t help but smile back.

He shook his head shyly, looking down. “No. I mean, I  _ should’ve _ ,” he said, shrugging his shoulders and bringing his gaze back to Richie’s eyes. “I should’ve been worried when he was called to the job, but . . . I wasn’t. I mean, that’s my  _ dad _ , he can’t get hurt. He can’t  _ die, _ ” Eddie said, his voice cracking on the last word. “You know?”

He softly nodded.

“But, when he was called to do that, to  _ save _ people, I was just . . . proud? Yeah, proud.  _ Really  _ fuckin’ proud, Rich.” He was rapidly blinking away his tears. “Anyway . . . his coworkers didn’t like him because they thought he shouldn’t’ve gotten the job.”

Richie swallowed thickly. “Why not?”

Eddie let out a laugh. “‘Cause he was small.”

A giant smile broke out onto Richie’s face, one so fierce that his cheeks burned. “ _ Really? _ ”

He nodded, a tear falling. Eddie left it sit there on his cheek as he continued, laughing again. “Yeah. Short. So they thought he couldn’t do his job well enough.”

Richie brought his knuckle up to quickly brush the tear away, trying to be subtle as he started to talk. “Completely wrong, right?”

“Definitely. He was great at his job,” he said. His smile slowly started to fade. “But my mom made him quit. Said it was too dangerous. Then he got this job at a company that makes cans. He just did work at a desk, though. Filing papers and stuff.”

Richie nodded again. “Let’s start there, yeah? Go to those two places and ask around.” He paused. “Hey. Do you think I can tell Bev and them? If you don’t want to it’s fine, but . . . I dunno, maybe it’ll be easier with more people?”

Eddie took a moment to process this, blinking a few times. “Richie . . . I shouldn’t have even told  _ you _ in the first place. The less people that know the better. I mean, I haven’t even told Mike and he used to be the only person who-”

“Who’s Mike?” Richie asked, cutting him off.

“Mike? My friend, Mike. I haven’t mentioned him before?”

He shook his head, feeling a pang of jealousy.  _ Yeah, I’ll admit it. Only ‘cause he’s just a really good friend that’s all-  _ “No.”

“Oh, well, yeah. He’s homeschooled, so.”

“Oh. Okay.” Richie swallowed. “So yeah I think we should start there.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter that I was going to add to, but I don't like not posting for a while so . . . here it is. 
> 
> Also, whenever anyone comments it literally makes my heart explode thank you.


	8. I'm David

After school, Richie headed to the fire station. They had decided to split up, though now this seemed like a terrible idea to him, because if they were really ‘investigating’ a murder than shouldn’t they be together for safety? He pushed the fear from his mind as he headed down the pavement, zipping his thin grey jacket (one that rose high on his wrists because he had got it around a year prior) as the cool wind blew past him. There were a few kids walking up the sidewalk behind him, going home from school, and he wished he was doing the same. They were laughing, their shoes scuffling as they went. This made him think of him and his friends, especially Stan and Bill who had asked where he was off to when he branched off early from the group. He had told them some lie about something he couldn’t even remember now, because of how easily it had slipped from between his lips.

Being in a small town, it wasn’t long before Richie had reached the fire station, gripping his backpack straps tightly. The three garage doors were open, like they always were, open for him to see the fire trucks and the few people walking around inside. They didn’t look in a hurry, in fact, they didn’t look very professional at all. They were all standing around and laughing, some even with a beer bottle in hand. Two men were standing in the corner, next to a door in which more people passed behind it. Richie took a breath before heading inside, his eyes flicking from left to right, to check if anyone spotted him. But no one did, he didn’t think they even cared enough to. 

So he headed to the two men, standing up straight to try and look like he knew where he was going. The man on the left was bald and sturdy looking as he stood with his small hands on his hips. He gave a shout of a laugh at what the other said, throwing his head back for a moment. And the other, he had gelled black hair that started high on his wrinkled forehead. His eyelids hung low as he listened, arms crossed as he nodded. He had tan skin and was slightly taller than the other. As Richie got closer he realized he had no idea what he was going to say and when the two of them realized he was walking over their brows furrowed and his stomach dropped.

“Hello,” Richie said, coming to a stop in front of them. He paused for a moment, waiting for either of them to say something. When they didn't, both of the men just staring back at him, Richie spoke up again, clearing his throat. “Uh . . . do you think I can speak to the guy in charge-who is that?”

“That’d be the fire chief, Son,” the one with the gelled hair said.

Richie smiled confidently. “Yes, yeah of course. Could I speak to him? I’ve got uh, I’ve got some questions to ask him for my school project,” he lied.

“For your school project, huh,” the other said. “Kid, we’ve got work to do, I’m sure John doesn’t have any time to help you do yer homework.” The man looked agitated, crossing his arms like his friend, the two of them looking like bodyguards.

Richie raised his eyebrows and took a slow look around him. “Doesn’t look like you guys are very busy. Ah well,” he shrugged his shoulders, “I guess my teacher’ll have to call and complain to the fire chief that you won’t let him give me a tour of the job. I’m pretty sure Ms. Williams had already set me up an appointment with him and he’ll think I’ve blown him off, but . . . I guess  _ you’ll _ have to answer to your supervisor about that.” She didn’t tell him that, of course, this whole project was a total lie, but he was making it sound confident and believable and he guessed that’s why both of their faces dropped.

The bald man shook his head. “I don’t know what yer tryin’ to pull here, son . . .”

“I’m not pulling anything, sir. I’ve got an important meeting with the police chief and it’s worth seventy-five percent of my grade, so I’d like to see him now if that’s alright.”

The two of them looked at each other, unsure. Richie could suddenly smell the scent of the food from the diner across the street which wafted into the garage. He shifted to his other foot anxiously. He made a move to look like he was ready to turn around and leave, taking a step back. “Well, I guess I’ll just-”

“Kid,” Gel-Hair said.

Richie stopped, eyebrows up.

“C’mon,” he sighed, flicking his chin back to gesture for him to follow.

Richie smiled triumphantly and followed, noticing the bald man mumbling something to the other as they walked. Richie wondered if Eddie’s father had known these men and if so, what did he think of them? Were they the ones who thought Frank didn’t belong here? Richie felt defensive, and even though he didn’t know him when he was alive, he felt the need to protect his reputation because it was Eddie’s father and from what he had heard, Eddie’s father was a good man.

Richie was led through a door that came out into a grey-carpeted hallway with many windows, letting him see into the other spaces. It was pretty much empty, a vending machine here, a table there. He caught glimpses of other bored-looking men, sitting around and reading newspapers or quietly talking amongst themselves. It was silent, the only sound was a low hum coming from some separate room.   
  
They came to a closed door and if Richie leaned over he could've been able to see into the room, but he felt on edge and didn't find it necessary. He watched gel hair guy knock on the wooden door, getting a quick response in return, a muffled, “Come in.”

The door opened with a soft click and was pushed ajar about halfway, both of the men looking back at Richie, who’s lips parted in surprise. They were waiting for him to go inside. With a quick nod of his head, he started forwards, the sturdy bald man staring intensely at him. Richie nearly let out a laugh. “Take a picture,” he mumbled, pushing past him and through the doorway. He heard a low grumble behind him, but gel hair guy must’ve closed the door shut because it was cut off mid-sound. 

He came eye to eye with a tall man, who looked about the age of forty and had a scruffy dark brown mustache under his bony nose. He looked as if he should be thin, the way he sat reminded Richie of how he himself did, his lanky legs and arms thrown out, but the man was muscled in a weird bumpy way that looked unnatural and very un-Richie like. His stone eyes watched the boy, confused between being blue or green or just a plain dead grey. He blinked, before saying, “Who are you?”

“I’m David,” Richie blurted out.  _ If I really am in a shady situation, no way am I giving out my real name.  _ “And if you’re not busy, I'd like to ask you some questions.”

The man ( _ John _ , Richie remembered) let a low chuckle escape from his throat and squinted his eyes. “Oh really?” he asked, southern accent smooth. “What, are you interrogating me or somethin’? Think I _murdered_ someone?” He let out another chuckle.

Richie’s stomach dropped and he swallowed hard. Despite that, his face scrunched up a little, offended by how childish he was making him out to be. “Maybe I do.” Richie helped himself to the chair on his side of the desk, automatically letting his shoulders fall forward to lean forward on his elbows. “Frank Kaspbrak,” he said. “You knew him right?”

A wide smile grew across the man’s face and he slowly leaned back in his padded chair, crossing his arms. “Got myself a young detective, huh? You think I had somethin’ to do with Frankie’s death? Let me tell you, that man was a nutcase,” he suddenly said, hard and truthful, any bit of amusement disappearing from his face. “Drove himself drunk right into that tree on the corner of Berkenwire Street. You hear he was dead on sight? No seatbelt on? He flew through that window, his head . . .” He flattened his hand in the air, bringing up his other to slap down on it, making a loud clap. Richie jumped. The fire chief shrugged. “Not my problem he was a drunkard. Guess he was about as good of a driver as he was a worker.”

Richie took a deep breath in, eyes traveling the floor. “You’re a liar,” he mumbled.  _ He must know something. He called him Frankie. Not Frank. Like they were friends _ .

“Listen, Kid, I could give two shits about what you think I am. Now get the hell outta my office before I make you. Wastin’ my damn time . . .”

“Listen, you Dumb _ fuck _ ,” Richie suddenly spit, and he would’ve stopped talking, in shock of what he had said, but he was too furious to end it there. “I came to find out  _ anything _ and if I walk out of this place just the way I came in,  _ clueless _ , then you’re gonna be in some deep shit.”

“Yeah? Like what? You gonna go whine to your parents about how I’m bein'  _ mean _ ? I’m sure they’ll love to hear what kind of language you’re using-”

“Hmm, let’s see,” Richie said, tapping his finger against his chin and staring up to the ceiling. “ _ Oh, _ did you hear about Kenny Chambers a few weeks ago? Eight year old?”

The man’s face dropped. “You wouldn’t,” he said quietly, stunned.

Immediately Richie’s face dropped as well, his eyes pricking with tears in just the way he wanted. “Oh officer, it was  _ humiliating _ ,” he mimicked. “He told me . . . He told me he wouldn’t let me out of his office if I didn’t . . . I just wanted to get information for my school project,” he choked out. “And he forced me to my knees-”

“They would never believe you,” he ushered, squirming in his seat. “I’m the  _ fire chief _ .”

“Even better,” Richie said, voice unaffected as he wiped away the crocodile tear that had squeezed from the corner of his eye. “They would be horrified that  _ the town’s hero _ would do such a thing. Plus, Kenny’s dad was a big deal, businessman type, and the cops still believed him.” He paused, eyes flicking down to the firefighter’s left hand which was now gripping the desk. Thankfully, there was a gold band around his ring finger. “Your wife would be devastated.” His black eyebrows raised as he looked at him once more. “Probably take the kids. You’d never get to see them again.”

He let out a huff of air through his nose and wiped the palm of his hand down his face. He took his time, adjusting in his seat a few times and looking utterly defeated.

“Are you gonna actually make me-”

“ _ Fine _ , fine, okay? I’ll tell you all that I know, it’s not much, but . . . just don’t tell that to anyone, Kid, that’s fucked up and you know it.”

-

Richie was taken out of the fire chief’s office and after a left turn into a back room with filing cabinets lining the walls. There were also a few wooden plaques above them, but other than that it was mostly barren. “What the fuck is this?” Richie asked, gaze fanning over the white walls and grey carpet that looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in a while, small pieces of fuzz stuck all over it.

“Hey, I wasn’t kidding Son, you need to watch that language,” he started, idly standing beside the boy. The man gave a pause before starting again. “Frank was in here a lot, he used to file the reports and . . .” He also seemed to contemplate the room, like he hadn’t seen it in a while, almost as if he missed it in a way. “When he quit, he was in a hurry, left this room in a shitstorm, papers everywhere. I came in and tried to stop him but he looked pretty freaked out. Scared me a little too, when he looked at me and just . . . ran. When I heard he died some months later, I . . .”

Richie squinted his eyes up at John, pulling at his backpack straps to adjust them. “What? You what?”

“I heard some of my guys talking, and-”

“_Chief!_” A voice suddenly shouted from the doorway, hurried and urgent.

The both of them spun around, Richie’s heart nearly leaping through his chest thinking that they were caught.

There was a man there who suddenly stopped from rushing in, his chest rapidly rising and falling. His brown hair (at least what was left of it) fell into his face and he pushed it back fiercely. “There’s a fire and Jim and Big Tommy are gone, we need you to fill in. We need to go  _ now _ .”

“Those idiots,” the chief muttered, exasperated, and turned to Richie quickly. “Listen, Dave, you can show yourself out. Don’t touch anything and don’t take anything,” he said, before hurrying out of the room, following the other man down the hall. Richie let a laugh escape his throat, he had forgotten he had told the man his name was David.

He heard a commotion outside, in the main part of the building, a few shouts that he couldn’t decipher and a,  _ “Tell him to get his ass in gear or he’ll lose his job! _ ” Richie shrugged and turned around once more, to regard the filing cabinets. And, like he was told not to, he stepped forward to open the drawers to look through them. The first two cabinets were just for reports of fires, mostly empty except for a few big incidents that Derry had had in the past (being such a small town nothing exciting ever happened). Richie quickly pushed those aside and went on to the next metal cabinet, and found something much more interesting. Every firefighter had their own file, neatly alphabetized by last name. Each drawer was full, papers squeezed tight together and nearly making the metal bulge. Richie had gotten to his knees, opening the second one, and slid the pad of his finger down the tabs of letters, eventually landing on K.  _ Kaspbrak, Frank _ , was the first file he pulled out. Richie didn’t think about what he was doing, he just did the first thing that came to mind. Glancing to the door, he hastily slipped his backpack from his shoulders to drop it to the carpeted floor. He unzipped it before sticking the file inside, between his math folder and his english notebook, and closed it back up. The lanky boy stood, tugging the strap back over his right shoulder, meanwhile closing the drawer with a thump.

He stopped.

Richie slowly tugged the drawer back open to double-check what he had thought he saw out of the corner of his eye. Hanging loosely above the files from the bottom of the drawer above it, was a piece of slightly crumpled paper. He slowly reached down and took it in between his thumb and forefinger to pull it out. There was a little resistance, making Richie realize that it was taped to the metal.

Voices were all of the sudden loud outside of the door and he stuffed the small paper in his back pocket swiftly. He closed the drawer once again and quickly headed out of the room, keeping his head down. Richie was only able to see a few pairs of shoes that were pointed towards each other on the other side of the hall and he held his breath, floating past them unannounced.

Richie noticed almost everyone was gone, so he made a beeline for the door he came in through, then through the garage which was devoid of firetrucks, and then to his home where he could finally sigh out in relief and call Eddie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, I'm not at all condoning what Richie does in this chapter, like a t a l l, but obviously he's not perfect and that's what I wanted to show so don't yell at me please lmao


	9. I Don’t Want a Haircut

Richie’s home didn’t turn out to be the sigh of relief that he expected. Instead, it was more of a slap to the face. His mother was in the kitchen, as per usual when he got home those days, his dad at work. Unfortunately, the kitchen was where the phone was, right on the wall across from the fridge. And he needed to use it, needed to call Eddie to tell him that he had found out something, whether it be huge or insignificant, it was  _ something _ . 

After swallowing down the last bit of wine in her glass, her throat bobbing, Maggie Tozier slurred out, “Where were you . . . Though’ you were hurt or somethin’,” to her son that stood in the doorway.

Richie traveled inside only mumbling, “Group project.” He headed straight for the phone, reaching out to pull it from where it was hung up. He paused, trying to remember Eddie’s phone number off the top of his head.  _ 207 . . . 207. . . 1- _

The sound of the chair scraping against the floor removed him from his thoughts. Richie heard his mother stumble and quietly laugh to herself, her bare feet padding against the tiles as she came up beside him. He took in a deep breath through his nose before looking at her drowsy face, eyelids hung low. Her hands came up to his shoulders, brown eyes traveling over him. “When’d yer hair get so long? D’you need a haircut?” she asked, patting some of his hair and pushing it away from his forehead.

He shook his head, trying to escape from her touch. “No, Mom, I-”

“It’s so long,” she repeated. Her hands dropped, one of them grabbing his arm to pull him to the kitchen table.

“ _ What _ ?” he said, agitated. 

She let him go and pulled out the chair she was sitting in before so that it was facing the wall. “Givin’ you a haircut,” she said. Her hand limply pat at the back of the chair, indicating him to sit down.

“Mom, I’ve got homework to do-”

She didn’t pay any attention to him, only turning around to dig through one of the drawers to find an old pair of scissors.

Richie didn’t know what to do, he could barely think at the moment, so he let his legs carry him to the chair and timidly sat down. He watched as his mother pulled out some old small pair of scissors, the kind you see kids use in elementary school with the rounded off tips, to cut construction paper with. They were set on the counter so she could pour herself another glass of alcohol. This time, Richie didn’t know what kind. It was in a round glass bottle that she pulled from way back in the cabinet like she had hidden it there, and she let enough glug into a glass to make any lightweight pass out for a few hours. She then dropped the empty bottle into the trash, a rattling sound vibrating through the kitchen from the other variety of bottles in there.  _ She’s been drinking more than I thought _ .

She swallowed some liquor down before grabbing the scissors and taking a stumbling step towards Richie, giving a laugh like before. He flinched, nearly thinking she would trip and hurt him or himself with the cutters. Maggie set her glass on the table with a clink and came to stand behind him.

Richie had vaguely noticed he was shaking, thin fingers gripping onto the wooden seat of the chair. His backpack was still on, pressed up against the bars and making books poke into his back. He felt her grab his head and try to tame some of his tangled nest of hair, shakily brushing through it, only to pull and tug at tangles which made tears prick his eyes. She eventually gave up and he heard a  _ snip _ . His eyes grew wide, feeling the cold metal against the back of his neck. 

His hair had grown out during middle school, reaching under his ears and producing wild yet somewhat loose brown-black curls. Richie didn’t like nor dislike his hair, but he felt a certain attachment to it that he appreciated because it was . . .  _ him _ . His friends had always teased him for it and Eddie had commented on it a few times. When Richie got to think about it, it almost seemed to him that Eddie had made an effort to touch his hair, on more than one occasion. Like a few days prior, the boy had made a fuss about how it was all frizzy and tangled, so he reached up and fixed it, patting down his curls and fluffing them in other places. Richie watched his face the entire time and felt shy all of a sudden, he didn’t know why.  _ Probably because I haven’t taken a shower lately _ , he had thought.  _ I don’t want him to think I’m gross. I mean he already does, but . . . _ This excuse also made him uneasy so he just stopped thinking about it entirely.

But his mother was cutting his hair right up to his neck. Chopping off his curls. He could feel it.

“There we go,” she quietly said, and sniffed, giving a pat to his head. 

He felt his eyes well up with tears. “ _ Mom _ .”

_ Snip _ .

“I don’t want a haircut,” he said, voice wavering.

_ Snip _ .

“Shhh _ ,”  _ she let out. “‘Gonna look s’much better.”

_ Snip _ .

The scissors were dangerously close to his ear, he could feel the cold metal against his skin once again. He bit his lip to stop himself from letting out a noise. Tufts of black hair were falling into his lap and onto the floor.

_ Snip _ .

But he couldn’t keep it in, his fingers shaking, his stomach sick with dread. “ _ Mom, please _ .” A tear fell from his eye and down his cheek. “ _ Please stop _ .” Richie felt himself give a hiccup of a sob and breathed in shakily.

“‘M not tryna make you sad, Honey. I love you, ‘m proud’f you,” she slurred. “I’m doin’ this ‘cause I love you.”

Her hands touching him made him try to shrink away and Richie clenched his eyes shut. “ _ Please _ ,” he begged. 

_ Snip _ .

_ “Mom! _ ,” he cried out. He was sobbing now, hard, tears leaking down his skin. He couldn’t take it. He missed her. He missed her too much.

The scissors were slammed down on the table loudly, making him jump. “Why d’you hate me?” she asked, sounding like she was on the verge of crying as well.

It only made him weep harder, bringing his hands to his face to hide himself. “ _ -I don’t! No, _ I  _ don’t . .. _ ”

“ _ Richie _ ,” she whined. “I love you. Don’t be mad . . . don’t be angry with me.” She placed her hands on his shoulders, slowly slipping them down to wrap around his neck and hug him.

Richie could smell the alcohol on her breath, warming the side of his face. He resisted the urge to gag and turned his head away, grimacing. The boy was practically frozen, limbs tensing from her hold on him. He wanted her hands  _ off _ , wanted to go up to his room and bury himself under the blankets and wake up in the morning to pretend like this had never happened, like he usually did. But he couldn’t even stand to be in the same room as her, let alone the same house. So when her grip around him loosened, Richie managed to squirm out of her arms and stand, hair falling from his shoulders. He automatically spun around to see her reaction.

And . . . she didn’t seem to really care at all. She gave a loud yawn, reaching for her glass on the table. “Where’re you going, Hun?” she asked drowsily, like a kicked puppy, eyes still glistening with tears.

He wiped his own away with the sleeve of his jacket, lips turned down. He took a few shaking breaths, blowing air through his trembling lips. “I forgot something at my friend’s house,” Richie whispered. He turned to leave the kitchen, cringing,  _ please don’t say anything, please . . . _

When she didn’t, he slipped on his shoes by the door and then hastily left his house, not giving a single glance behind him. 

-

Richie was going to Beverly’s house. Or Stan’s. Or Bill’s. That’s where he was set on going. But his legs had had a different idea. And he didn’t care enough to stop them, or maybe his mind was just covering up his true actions so as to make him believe that it wasn’t his fault that he was going where he was.

He wasn’t crying anymore, but he could feel that familiar tightness in his chest, and it was building. He kept going though, kept taking eager steps to go faster as he walked.

No, he was running. Richie was running now, that pressure inside him close to the edge and he needed someone to catch it.

That was why he found himself outside of Eddie’s Kaspbrak’s house. It was almost dark out, the sun practically vanished, when he stood outside his window (not the front door because his mother’s car was parked in the driveway).

He gave a knock to the glass, a frantic quivering knock that was too loud. He couldn’t see inside, the curtains blocking his view.

Sure enough, they were moved out of the way moments later, a small angered boy on the other side of the window staring back at him. “What in the fuck happened to your hair, Tozier?” his muffled voice said.

At the sight of Eddie’s face, his heart dropped and Richie opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t. He looked away, embarrassed and miserable.

There was a pause before he heard the window opening and the screen being popped out. “Rich?” he heard him slowly ask. “You okay?”

He didn’t answer because he knew if he did, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from crying.  _ God, I’m fucking pathetic. _

“Jesus, Richie, would you come inside?, the cold is getting in.”

So he did, he swung his long legs inside, ducking his head, all the while keeping his eyes from meeting with Eddie’s. The immediate warmth of the bedroom soothed him and he hadn’t even noticed his body was vibrating from the chill outside. 

Eddie quickly replaced the window screen in the frame and closed the glass. He came to stand in front of the other boy, Richie could see his crossed arms. “Well? You gonna explain what’s going on?” he asked, voice oddly soft.

Richie, again, tried to speak, a noise sounding like some kind of squeak escaping his throat. His face was burning red and he lifted his hands to cover his features which were starting to tense and turn down. 

“ _ Rich _ ,” he breathed.

His small hands were grabbing Richie’s wrists to pull them down, away from his face. “No,” Richie whispered, and he let out a sob. It scorched his insides, making him regret coming over in the first place,  _ what was I thinking? What was I thinking? _

“Richie . . . fucking  _ asshole _ , c’mere,” he said sadly, tugging at him.

_ Oh _ .

Richie let his hands drop and fell into Eddie’s arms, leaning over and burying his face in his neck. He trembled  _ hard _ for a few moments before it finally came flooding out of him, sobs racking his body. Eddie nearly toppled over but grounded them by wrapping his arms around Richie and gripping onto the grey shoulders of his jacket.

And,  _ wow _ , this felt so much different than his mother’s arms around him. Hers were almost clammy and unrecognizable, but Eddie’s . . . they were delicate yet sturdy and sure. He practically melted into them and at that moment he wasn’t afraid of just letting everything go, so he did.

There was something about all of it that was on the tip of his tongue, yet he couldn’t figure it out. Maybe he didn’t want to.

“ _ Eds,” _ he cried between sobs.

Eddie held him tighter and turned so he could pull both of them down to sit on the end of his bed. His right hand was up in Richie’s shorter hair to pet it and gently rub at his scalp.

Richie could smell Eddie in all his lemon-scented glory and after a few minutes his breathing steadied out from it. His head was pounding, face wet from his tears. He gave one last hiccup of a sob at the thought of Eddie being so sweet.  _ I love him _ .

_ Um. _

All was quiet in his mind.  _ What, no snide remark, Richie? _ he wondered. The little voice in his head was completely silent, absent, so he filled it in for himself.  _ As a friend _ , he clarified.  _ Right? Right . . . Hello? Right? _

They pulled away and Richie still couldn’t bear to look him in the eyes, for more reason than one now.

“And I thought your hair couldn’t get any worse,” Eddie muttered.

Richie let out a barking laugh, honestly feeling good to have a smile stretch across his face. He finally absentmindedly looked at him then, at Eddie’s worried smile prettily showcased. He felt something twitch in his hand, so looked down to see-

_ He’s holding my hand. Eddie’s holding my fucking hand- _

“Um,” Eddie started. “You know you can tell me what’s wrong, right?”

_ Oh okay, we’re ignoring this? Cool, let me just ignore the fact that your hand is in my hand and you’re freaking holding my hand and it’s totally cool and all ‘cause we’re  _ friends _ - _

“Because I told you about my dad, because I trust you,” he continued.

“You  _ trust _ me?”

Eddie nodded. He let out a quiet laugh. “I don’t know  _ how _ , but . . . Yeah. And I mean,” he shrunk down a little, shyness showing itself, “I hope you trust me too?”

“Well  _ yeah _ . ‘Course I do,” Richie said.

“Okay. Good.”

Richie looked down, back at their hands. Eddie’s was much smaller in his own but it was nice. It looked good like that. Like it was meant. He tried to focus on that as he started talking. “My mom, she hasn’t been doing very well lately.” He gave a huff of a laugh at how much of an understatement that was, but then got distracted by how nice and perfect Eddie’s nails were. Short but even, his cuticles were neat as well. “Drinking-she’s been drinking . . .”  _ Just spit it out, Tozier _ . “Because of something that happened about a year ago. And my dad’s been messed up from it too, but it’s different with him, because he’s been taking a lot more shifts at work and basically owns the place now . . . So he’s not around a lot.” He swallowed hard, blinking rapidly. He took a deep breath. “What happened was . . .”

He took a very long hard thought at this, trying to decide if he really wanted to tell Eddie all of . . . well, everything. He really did trust Eddie. Eddie had told him about his father and Richie was able to help him. It made him scared and nervous and overly ashamed, but he really thought he could do it.

So he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow i'm actually proud of this chapter yay


	10. The Glass isn't Gonna Break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READ THIS - Okay, so just a little warning here at the start - (If you feel like you won't have a problem reading anything that might be found disturbing and don't want to be spoiled DO NOT READ ANYMORE OF THIS NOTE) Slight spoilers in 3, 2, 1, - If you don't want to read anything about stillbirths, or miscarriages, or anything having to do with losing a baby, you might want to skip this chapter. Also, the things that happen in this chapter will definitely be talked about in later chapters, so just a little heads up. I usually don't put any kind of warnings on my fics, but I feel like this is something important to let you know just in case. If you don't want to read this chapter, I promise I won't take it personally, I totally understand where you're coming from. 
> 
> \- Annie

“You’re  _ what! _ ?” Richie asked, disbelieving. His brown eyes were wide as they moved in between his mother and father who were sitting across from him at the dinner table. They were in the middle of a normal family dinner when they had said that they had something important to tell him, totally freaking the kid out.  _ I’m going to be a what? We’re going to- Mom, you’re- _

“I’m pregnant, Sweetie,” Maggie had told him, a soft smile across her face. She squeezed his father’s hand and gave him a look of pure adoration.

Richie was dumbfounded, he didn’t know what to say. His mouth was open and gaping like a fish, his parents waiting for him to say something. “I . . .”

“Seven weeks,” his father continued. “Richie, do you understand?” he asked, forehead wrinkling.

Richie slowly nodded, taking a moment to look at the floor and gather himself.  _ I’ve got no clue what to say? How should I feel? I’m confused. _

“ . . . Are you excited?” Maggie asked, worry evident in her voice.

“I don’t-I don’t know,” he said, shaking his head back and forth. “You mind if I go upstairs? I just need to . . . think-yeah, I need to think.”

“Oh-okay,” she said, distraught, eyebrows low and pinched.

“ _ Richie _ -”

His mother hushed his father as the thin boy, feeling oddly dizzy, stood.

He slowly stepped out of the kitchen and went upstairs, trying to wrap his brain around what was going on.  _ My mom’s pregnant _ , he thought, completely baffled. When he got into his room he shut his door and then carefully and sluggishly sank down on his bed.  _ I’m going to be a brother? _ Richie ran his hand through his hair and looked up to the ceiling.  _ Seven weeks _ . His parents were good parents, at least  _ pretty _ good, but Richie sometimes felt like they overlooked things or let things go when they should be given more attention. He was lonesome at home, even with both of them there, and with a new baby on the way? He would most definitely be forgotten, pushed to the side. It wasn’t like he didn’t want the baby to get any attention, because of course he did, it was a  _ baby _ , but he had been an only child for fourteen years and it gave him a bad taste in his mouth to think of someone else living fourteen years without any  _ real _ parenting. 

Richie had too much to think about. He got up to shut the lights off and then tucked himself under the covers, tightly shutting his eyes in the darkness.

His door opened with a click a few minutes later. “Richie?” his father’s voice said softly.

He didn’t answer, watching his father’s shadow next to him on the wall from the light in the hallway until he heard the door shut again, shrouding him in black.

-

“Hello, who is this?” the voice on the other line said.

“Hey, Mrs. Denbrough, it’s Richie. Is Bill there? Can I talk to him?”

It was the following day, Richie’s parents out buying groceries. He had woken up that morning feeling groggy and sleep-deprived before sitting straight up in bed in shock when he remembered the previous night was real and not a dream. He needed to talk to someone.

“Oh sure, Richie, let me just call him down,” Bill’s mother, Sharon Denbrough, told him. 

There was a muffled shout of his friend’s name as he waited, impatiently tapping his bare foot on the tiles of the kitchen. Richie’s heart was beating fast and he had to take steady breaths as to not absolutely freak out.

“Hello-”

“Bill, my mom’s fuckin’ pregnant.”

There was a slight pause. “W-wait, w-w- _ what _ ?” Bill eventually stuttered out. “Really? Are you kidding, or . . .”

“Oh yeah, I'm definitely kidding,  _ genius _ , just wanted to call and joke about how my mom’s carrying around a little tiny fucking  _ human being _ inside her right now-”

“Shut up, r-Richie,” Bill intervened. “How far along is she?”

“Seven weeks,” Richie said dreadfully.

“Well, con-congratulations,” Bill said happily. “That’s- _ wow _ , that’s cr-crazy. You’re gonna be a big brother.”

Richie groaned and let his head fall against the wall with a thump.

“What’s wrong?”

He took in a long breath and frowned. He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Well . . . you know my parents.”

“You jealous of this baby already?”

“ _ No _ , I’m . . . Well, yeah . . .  _ No _ . I just . . . I’m . . .  _ Fuck _ , I’m scared,  _ okay _ ? I’m scared. What if they treat it like they treat me? Or what if they totally completely forget me? Or both of us?”

Bill took a moment to think, only his breathing could be slightly heard. “Well, you know how my parents are, ruh-right?”

Richie and Bill were in the same position as one another. Both of their sets of parents really didn’t watch over them, really didn’t provide any comfort for their children. Bill’s folks barely talked with their son anymore, after his brother went missing. He had told Richie that it was like a part of them was destroyed, that part of them being crucial to parenting him. But then his brother had been  _ found _ , he was found and they . . . Then they stayed like that. Because Bill’s brother was different. Changed. He acted differently because things had happened to him. Their whole family was in ruins after.

“Well, yeah.”

“Well, with George . . . Georgie is here for me.”

“Bill, he’s like seven-”

“It does-doesn’t matter. Because I take care of him, you know? And it's like my job nuh-now.”

“So what? When this kid pops out it’s just gonna be my responsibility?”

He could practically hear Bill nod. “Yeah. And you’ll have someone who understands what you’re going through and you’ll get through it together. If my mom hadn’t had juh-Georgie . . . well, then I don’t think I’d be who I am today, you-you know? I love him, even though he can be a to-total little prick sometimes-”

Richie let out a laugh and nodded.

“I sw-swear it’s gonna change your life, Rich.”

“Jesus Christ, you sound like a dad.”

Bill laughed. “You’re a duh-duh-dick.”

Richie thought, he really  _ thought _ hard about having a little kid running around his home and picking its nose and breaking shit and making a mess everywhere. Maybe it seemed bad . . . but it didn’t really sound  _ that _ bad. He could handle it. Maybe it really was a good thing. A little sibling might not mend his parents and his’ relationship, but it could sure mend Richie as a whole.  _ Huh. _

-

Richie had gone with his parents to find out if the baby would be a girl or a boy, feeling much better about the situation. But when he walked into the hospital he got this antsy queasy feeling in his stomach and decided to stay in the waiting room whilst everything went down. It had been a few months after he had found out his mother was pregnant and they had talked a few times, as a family, about how Richie felt about the whole thing.  _ It was strange _ , he thought,  _ how different they’re acting. They actually care about how I’m feeling now? When did that start? What changed? Is this baby actually fixing my whole life right now, what the hell? _

He was sitting in a cushioned chair in a white air-conditioned room that made him feel even worse. He was gripping the armrests and drumming on them and tapping his foot on the ground like he usually did. He kept looking back and forth between the other people who sat in the room. There was an old man a few seats away from his left who had a newspaper opened in front of him, his white freckled head had a white patch on this side. Every now and then he cleared his throat with a crunchy dry sound that made Richie grimace.

Across from him, there was a woman who barely fit in her seat and wore an ugly pink dress. She had thin brown hair with fake curls and Richie wondered,  _ Why would anyone want curls? They’re freaking annoying _ . She looked thoroughly disgusted and he waited for her to stop making that expression, but eventually settled on realizing that that was just her resting face. He had no idea who this woman was, had no idea how difficult she would be making his life a year and a half later.

He closed his eyes and furrowed his brows.  _ What is wrong with me? Why am I so nervous? Jesus  _ Christ.

He heard the main doors open with a scrape and let his eyes open and fall upon the person who came through. It was a woman, her hair brown and frizzy, still somehow looking nice as it fell between her shoulder blades. She had a baby cradled in her arms who she looked down at and smiled. The woman went to the front check-in desk, which, by the way, had a really nasty old woman who made Richie nearly scream when his parents had checked in. She had tried to tell them that their son had had an attitude and that he should be disciplined.  _ Like hell I had an attitude! I may have commented to my dad on how fucking dead you look under my breath, but still . . . _

The woman eventually came to sit across from him, where the other woman who had gone up to sneak through the double-doors to get into the patient area a few minutes prior was sitting. She delicately held her child in her arms and was whispering something to it. Richie heard the baby coo and saw his mother smile and give a soft chuckle in response. “Oh yeah?” she quietly said.

Richie swallowed.  _ Was that how mom was like with me?  _ His eyes grew wide.  _ Is that how she’s gonna be with the new baby? _

It wasn’t long before his parents came through the double-doors and he jolted up, his heart nearly fucking flying up through the goddamned ceiling. His mother had tears in her eyes, his father’s arm around her shoulders. “You okay-Are you okay?” Richie asked frantically.

She nodded, the two of them coming to stand in front of him. She smiled. “It’s a girl,” she whispered.

Richie’s lips parted. “Girl . . . It’s a girl?” And, for some reason, he felt tears well up in his own eyes. He looked down and then up, at his mother’s face, and then his father’s. He smiled. “Really?” he choked out.

“Yeah,” she responded, giving a laugh. And she stepped forward, pulling both Richie and Wentworth into a hug.

Richie truly felt happy. He really did.

On the way out of the hospital, he caught eyes with the woman who had sat across from him, with her baby. She gave him a smile and he gladly returned it.

-

“Okay, so this is where the crib will be,” Maggie instructed, gesturing at a spot by the wall.

“ _ There _ ?” Richie asked incredulously. “It’s by the window,” he said, throwing his hand out. “The sun’ll be shining in on her and what if it breaks? The glass? Someone could basically reach in and snatch her-”

“The glass isn’t gonna break,” she said with a smile, rolling her eyes.

“He’s got a point, Mags,” Wentworth said from beside him. “You know, ‘cause some cat burglar could totally reach in and grab her. Baby burglar. ‘Cause there’s a ton of those around here-”

Richie rolled his eyes and gave a groan. “I didn’t order a side of asshole-ery today, okay-”

“ _ Richie _ ,” his mother chided. She rolled up her left sleeve which had fallen down. “Language.”

“Alright, I’m gonna go to Wilson’s to grab another can of paint, okay?” Went said.

“Don’t be too long,” Richie’s mother said, turning to look below the window again.

Richie watched his father leave and then turned to walk beside his mother who was inspecting the paint on the window frame. He swallowed, feeling a little awkward as they stood there in silence. “So,” he started. “Uh . . .”

“ _ Oh! _ ” she exclaimed.

He jumped. “ _ What, are you okay?  _ Are you alright?”

“Give me your hands!” she ushered.

“ _ Huh?”  _ he said, confused. Richie stuck his hands out timidly, wondering what she was doing.

Maggie grabbed his hands, hurriedly pulling them to her protruding belly and holding them there. He automatically froze, heart thumping in his ears loudly. His hands would’ve shaken if they weren’t set on something.  _ What is she-what is going on-what the hell- _ He gasped. Under his left palm, he felt something gently poking at him. Richie looked up at her with wild eyes, jaw dropped.

“You feel her?” she asked, grinning.

He nodded and swallowed as he looked back down. Richie let out a soft laugh. “Hi,” he said quietly. “Hello, Michelle.” He swallowed once more. “You doin’ okay in there? Feeling good?” He looked back up at his mother at the feeling of another kick. “Can she actually hear me?” he asked.

“Yeah. She’ll probably know your voice when she’s born.”

“ _ Wow _ .”

“Hey,” she said softly. She looked into his eyes. “You know I love you, right?”

His eyes grew even wider. “i-I-yeah, I do. I do.”  _ Don’t you cry, Rich. _

“Good,” she said, letting Richie’s hands fall back to his sides. She sighed, turning back to the window. “Now let’s see how long yer dad’ll take to buy more paint.”

-

The worst night of Richie’s life had started with this: an argument.

Richie was sitting on the couch, watching some show on the television and trying to decide if he should walk over to Stanley’s house to pick up the jacket that he had left there a few days before. His parents were in the kitchen, discussing something or other that Richie didn’t pay any mind to. Until their voices grew louder and he could no longer pay attention to what his show or his mind was saying.

He looked over his shoulder into the bright kitchen and squinted his eyes.

“ _ Honey _ , I can’t be here every day, I have to go to work and  _ provide _ for us,” his father yelled.

“I  _ KNOW that _ WENT!” she practically screamed. “You don’t think I know that? I’m not some other dumb broad  _ THAT YOU’VE FUCKED IN HIGH SCHOOL- _ ”

“OH, YOU’RE STARTING WITH THIS SHIT AGAIN, MAGGIE? REALLY?”

Richie had stood up, legs wobbly, and quickly moved to stand in the doorway of the kitchen, his eyes flicking between the two of them as they screamed at each other. His mother was holding her stomach with one hand, her other flailing and pointing in front of her.

“Mom, Dad, calm down-”

“I CAN’T MAGICALLY BE HERE EVERY TIME YOU NEED ME, MAGGIE-”

“WE’VE GOT A FUCKING BABY ON THE WAY, WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO-”

“The  _ baby _ ,” Richie said. “Dad, calm down,  _ the baby _ -”

“WELL I’VE GOTTA BUY ALL THIS SHIT WITH OUR MONEY THAT WE DON’T EVEN NEED-”

“WHAT THE HELL DO YOU MEAN? WE NEEDED A CARSEAT, YOU WANT ME TO JUST CARRY HER AS YOU DRIVE-”

“ _ Please,”  _ Richie begged. “ _ STOP,”  _ he screamed.

But it really was too late.

His mother’s chest was rising and falling in rapid jolts and she looked down, her eyebrows furrowed as her mouth gaped and she held her stomach. “ _ Ow _ , fuck,” she let out.

“ _ Mom _ ,” Richie said, running over to her, his father meeting him there.

“Maggie,  _ Maggie _ , You okay?”

She let out a groan and reached to grip the counter. “Think my water broke,” she mumbled.

Richie looked down, realizing that there was a pool of liquid on the tiles that he hadn’t even noticed. “ _ No _ , it’s too early, Mom, it’s too early-”

“ _ Richie _ ,” she said angrily, “The bab _ y’s coming _ .”

He shook his head frantically, eyes welling up. “ _ No-” _

“ _ Yes _ ,” she hissed. “Went, get the car-”

His dad had bolted out of the kitchen, out of the house before Richie had even blinked.

“Gotta get to the car-I gotta get to the car,” she said, panting.

Richie reached an arm around her, saying, “Here, lean on me.”

They slowly started to move, Richie careful as to not let her slip on the wet floor. “Is it supposed to hurt already-Is it supposed to hurt?”

“It’s probably a contraction-” She gave a yelp and gripped onto Richie’s shoulder tightly, nails pressing into his shirt and leaving indents in his skin.

He knew something was wrong, he didn’t know how, but he just felt it in his gut.

He desperately wished he was wrong, wished more than anything for his loudmouth to be shut up for once. But, of course, they weren't that lucky.

When they rushed his mother into the hospital, who was sobbing and groaning, the nurses had taken her, his father following alongside them and telling Richie to stay in the waiting room. “ _ No! _ ” he had yelled, but his father’s face was enough to make him stay.

It was the longest four hours of his life.

He was pacing around the waiting room, hands covering his face, sweat dripping down his neck and heart beating a hundred miles an hour. People were giving him dirty looks as he tried to keep his composure, a nurse trying to come over to comfort him, but he couldn’t even bring up the nerve to speak he was so distraught.

All he could see was his mother’s horrified face and the sounds of her wailing in the car as he clapped his hands over his ears and cried.

He was doing the same, as he finally plopped down in a chair after two of the hours, mind running wild. Richie tried to think of something good, something that he could rely on to make him feel better, but there was nothing he could do to make him forget the situation he was in.

After three hours he sat silent, eyes glued to the wall, unblinking. If someone walked in they would almost be able to think nothing was wrong, if they didn’t notice how his body hummed as he violently shook. No one had come from the double doors to tell him anything, not his dad or the doctor or a nurse. He was completely alone, completely in the dark as to what was happening.

After four hours he couldn’t take it anymore. He stood up, walked to his right, and pushed through the double doors. He thought it would be hard to find where his mother was, but it wasn’t. He immediately saw his father a ways down the hall, sitting in a chair, head in his hands.

Richie didn’t walk any faster, like anyone would expect him to, as he  _ himself _ would expect. Because he didn’t  _ want _ to know. Richie didn’t want to know why his father was sitting with his head in his hands by himself in the middle of the hallway. Did Richie already know what had happened? He had a feeling he did. Just a feeling, not a thought, because if he thought about it he wouldn’t be able to make it to the end of the hallway.

He did though, and stopped in front of Wentworth and closed his eyes. “Dad?” he whispered. 

He got an immediate response and it was almost like they were having a normal conversation. “What, Richie?”

He opened his eyes, seeing his father’s face which looked ten years older than he did four hours ago. The whites of his eyes were red and he looked like he had just . . . given up. “Just tell me. Just tell me.”

Went rubbed a hand over his face and then looked to the floor. He was crying. “S . . . Stillborn.”

Richie blinked once.

Twice.

Three times.

“Why?” is all he said.

His father wiped his eyes. “The umbilical cord. And . . . her blood pressure got too high.”

Richie broke, letting out a sob. “I told you to  _ stop _ . I-I told you,” he said, lip quivering.

Wentworth stood, shaking his head. “Richie, it’s not like that, I-”

“I FUCKING TOLD YOU,” he screamed, pointing at him with his finger like it was a knife. Tears were streaming down his face and he took a few steps backward. “YOU DIDN’T LISTEN TO ME ‘CAUSE NO ONE EVER FUCKING DOES.”

“ _ Richie, Richie listen-” _

“WHY SHOULD I? WHY THE FUCK SHOULD I? YOU DON’T LISTEN TO ME SO WHY SHOULD I LISTEN TO YOU?”

People were starting to peek out of their rooms and see what all the ruckus was, some people slamming their doors shut.

“ _ Richie _ you  _ need _ to calm down-”

“IT’S YOUR FAULT SHE’S DEAD.” Richie was gasping for breath, his lungs aching. “YOU KILLED MY LITTLE SISTER. I LOVED HER AND YOU KILLED HER. YOU FUCKING KILLED HER,” he choked out, throat raw. He started to aggressively push him on the chest, a low thumping sound echoing. 

His father had tears running down his cheeks but Richie didn’t care, he couldn’t. 

“Hey,  _ hey _ ,” a nurse’s voice called from down the hall. Her footsteps were getting closer. “You need to get out-”

He gave him one last good push before turning and running on weak legs, all the way out of the hospital and into the parking lot. It was heavily snowing, fat flakes landing in his hair and on his hot cheeks. He breathed in the cold air gladly, bending down to vomit on the pavement, hands on his knees as he choked on sobs and spit.

After that night, his mother started drinking.


	11. Yeah, Me Too

Eddie tightened his grip on Richie’s hand, his own eyes ready to leak at any second. He slowly shook his head. “Richie . . . I . . . I’m sorry. I’m  _ so  _ sorry that that happened to you. You-you didn’t deserve that.”

Richie was biting on the inside of his cheek, staring at the bed’s headboard to his left. He gave a humorless chuckle. “No, I probably did. I’m fucking useless, Eds.”

He felt a sharp jolt on the back of his hand that was joined with the other boy’s, Eddie had slapped it.

_ “Ow, that actually- _ ”

“ _ Don’t say  _ that,  _ asshole _ ,” the small boy gritted out through his white teeth, truthfully angry. His lips were parted in frustration. “You  _ are not _ , okay?  _ You are not _ . You help me with my homework and you’re always a good person and you’re helping me find out what happened to my dad. If you weren’t here than I’d be fucking nowhere. So don’t say that about yourself, I swear to  _ fuck _ , Tozier, I  _ will _ choke you out.”

Richie felt an amused smile creeping up on his face, being able to forget about everything for a moment. “Almost sounds to me like you got a little  _ cruuuush _ -”

“Oh will you just  _ quit it _ -”

“ _ Eddie-Bear?”  _ a voice abruptly called from down the hallway, heavy footfalls growing louder.

Eddie nearly flew up from the spot he was sitting, his hand tearing away from Richie’s, both his right and his left grabbing the flaps of Richie’s grey jacket to pull him to his feet.

“ _ Jesus-” _

“ _ Get in the fucking closet _ ,” Eddie whisper-yelled, his eyes frantic as he shoved Richie in the direction of where he wanted him.

Richie had begun to laugh as he tripped over to the closet, at how stupidly cute Eddie looked as he flailed his thin limbs around in a hurried manner, his hair falling out of place. Richie fell through the opening of the door into the darkness, shoving polos and t-shirts down the rack with a scraping metal noise, the hangers sliding across where they were hooked. Eddie had slammed the sliding door shut, just as Richie thought he heard the bedroom door open.

“Eddie?”

“Hi, Mommy,” Richie heard Eddie choke out, muffled from the door.

“Who were you talking to?” his mother asked. Her voice was commanding, yet somehow she sounded like she was trying to come off as sweet, failing miserably. Richie frowned at her presence. 

“Oh, just nobody,” he told her.

_ What? Eds, you're totally blowing it! _

“‘Just nobody’?” she repeated, definitely catching on to the lie.

Eddie paused before giving a cough and spitting out, “Uh, yeah, I was just pra-I was just practicing.”

“Practicing what?”

“My lines. For the school play, they’re doing Romeo and Juliet. I was going to try out for it tomorrow.”

The ends of Richie’s lips curled down and he slowly nodded his head in respect.  _ That didn’t sound half bad, actually _ . His nose twitched, recognizing the smell of the fresh laundry hung, a soft comforting lemon-lime smell that he associated with Eddie. 

“ _ Honey _ , you can’t do an audition. Imagine you being out on that stage with those bright lights? And the makeup they force you to wear when you go on? Imagine what that might do to your skin, Eddie, just imagine. And you know how I feel about the theatre, Eddie-Bear . . .”

_ Oh my God, I totally forgot she calls him that- _

“I-I know-”

“You apparently don’t. I don’t want you going to that audition tomorrow, Eddie,” she commanded. “Now, did you take your pills?”

“Yes, Mommy.”

“Good boy. I’m going to Aunt Olivia’s house and then to the store, so I’ll be gone for a while. Are you sure you don’t want to come with me? Oh, why don’t you, I don’t want anything bad to happen when I’m gone.”

“No, I’ll be fine. I’ve got to do my homework, anyway.”

Richie heard Eddie’s mother give an unhappy noise before her footsteps traveled across the room. Richie watched the crack between the sliding door and the wall, the light shining through in a ray. A smack rang out, a kiss, he realized.

“Don’t answer the phone and don’t leave the house. If anything happens, you call your aunt immediately.”

Eddie didn’t respond as the heavy footfalls left the room, the door shutting after them.

Richie waited a few moments until Eddie opened the door back up. The light made him squint. “ _ O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou-” _

“Shut the fuck up I swear to  _ God _ .”

“Aw,  _ Eddie-bear _ , you are just  _ precious _ . Too cute.  _ Cute, cute cute, _ ” Richie said in a baby voice, leaning forward to pinch the boy’s red cheek before his hand was quickly swatted away.

Eddie covered his crimson face in defeat and mumbled something under his breath. 

Richie’s eyebrows furrowed, only just then realizing what the other was dressed in. He hadn’t even noticed.  _ How did I not notice? Are those . . . are those short-shorts? They’re the ones he wore to school . . . Oh my God . . . Why can’t I look away? This isn’t normal, I’m not fucking normal- _

Eddie let out a gasp (nearly giving Richie a heart attack as he ripped his eyes away from his oversized shirt and under-sized shorts) and dropped his hands. “My dad!” he exclaimed. “He took out all of this money out of the bank before he . . . He took out all of this money that I didn’t even know we had, I don’t even think my mom knew about it. It was a totally different bank account, not the joint account that they had together at Holland Bank. It was at that small bank on the edge of town-”

“Oh  _ shit _ ,” Richie said, dropping his backpack from his shoulders to the bed. Flipping through his folders he asked, “Wait, how did you find that out?”

“Well,” he bit his lip, “When I went to his work I kind of went to his desk and . . . all his stuff was still there, ‘cause it’s kind of an empty place, you know, not many people work there so I guess they just left everything. . . And there was this little notebook that he kept in his desk, which should’ve been locked but for some reason it wasn’t, and it had a ton of his personal information like passwords and other stuff. So it had the phone number and the bank  _ and  _ the password, just  _ right there _ , so I thought what’s the harm in calling?”

“Uh . . . Okay? Eddie Spaghetti, why’re you being so nervous right now, you’re acting like you did something really wrong-”

“The place wasn’t open.”

Richie stopped searching for a moment, eyes wandering along the bedspread. His jaw suddenly dropped and he looked up at Eddie, letting out a laugh. “ _ No.  _ You  _ did not _ freaking sneak in there, did you?”

Eddie pressed his lips together in regret, before slowly nodding.

“ _ Holy shit!  _ You’re crazy!” He covered his mouth snickering. “You?” Richie, his voice muffled, said. “I would never expect, you, Mr. Eddie-Goody-Two-Shoes-Kaspbrak, to  _ ever- _ ”

“Yeah yeah, dickhead, just hurry up and show me what you found.”

Richie kept quietly laughing as he finally found the file he had gotten from the fire station and pulled it out, presenting it to Eddie like a trophy. “ Voila! ”

Eddie took it from him, inspecting it.

“And this,” Richie dug in his back pocket, finding the small crumpled paper still there, thankfully, “little number was  _ taped _ on the bottom of a drawer in a filing cabinet.” He handed it over to him as well. “Oh damn, it really is a number,” he mumbled, vaguely seeing the etching across the top of the torn-off section of loose-leaf paper.

“Well, how did  _ you _ get this?” Eddie asked, lifting the file slightly.

“Uh . . .” Richie went over the events in his head, feeling like he shouldn’t be proud of what he did and he definitely wasn’t-

Eddie had undoubtedly noticed the look on his face, rolling his eyes and saying, “Nevermind. I have a feeling I don’t want to know.”

Richie smiled thankfully.

He followed Eddie to his desk, where he pulled out the small notebook he was talking about from the dresser next to it, hidden under multiple pairs of socks. Everything was set out, the desk lamp shining down on the items like they were the evidence in a murder.  _ Oh, wait. _

Eddie picked up the torn piece of paper. “It’s his handwriting,” he noted.

“Should we call it?” Richie asked, leaning against his shoulder to look it over. 

He looked skeptically at it between his fingers, furrowing his brow. “I . . . I don’t know. What-what if it’s like . . . his mistress or something?”

“ _ His mistress? _ ”

“Well,” he threw his hands up, letting them fall to his sides. “He didn’t  _ have _ one, but . . . he could’ve? Like, I don’t know, my parents were married but they weren't really  _ married.  _ Does that make sense?”   
  
Richie nodded.  _ If this really is a mafia situation, then they could definitely track and listen to our calls.  _ He rolled on the balls of his feet as he stared up at the ceiling, hands stuffed in his pockets as he tried to think. “What if . . . What if we checked in the phone book? Then we can make sure we know who we're calling.” He smiled. “'Cause you're too chickenshit to talk to his  _ mistress. _ ”   
  
“ _ Hey,  _ no I'm not,” he stated, crossing his arms.   
  
He laughed and reached over to ruffle Eddie’s hair. “It’s not his mistress, dipshit.”

Eddie ducked, trying to escape his touch, his face the definition of a pout. “ _ Whatever _ , let’s just get the phone book.”

-

Lying on the floor on his stomach, his head on his hand, Richie flipped through the big yellow phone book. It almost smelled like a basement as he turned the pages, the cover coated in a layer of thin dust. Eddie was sitting sideways on the chair for his desk, flipping through the manilla folder Richie had brought. It was dark outside and peaceful, absolutely no cars passing on the street outside.

Richie looked up to Eddie for a moment, going over the events that had led to him being there. He had come there because he had needed someone (he had actually sought someone out, which he had never done before). And now, it was over, they were onto the next thing. Richie had absolutely loved this aspect of their friendship. They didn’t make a big deal out of what had happened, they acknowledged it and moved on. It didn’t ruin their night or get in the way of what they were set on doing in the first place. It made him feel like he’d grown in a way, because he had talked about his dirty laundry, cried a little bit, and now he felt much better about the entire situation. And Eddie had helped him through it, which he couldn’t be more thankful for. Richie had never remembered being  _ thankful _ for anything, but it was one of the words that jumped out in his mind when he thought of that night. He was thankful for Eddie being there, thankful for someone that he could share such personal things with, and most of all, thankful for his reaction to it. Eddie hadn’t acted like Richie was weird for getting attached to someone he hadn’t even met, or act like Richie was overreacting to everything that had happened to him. Eddie took it all in and thought of Richie well enough to actually say that he didn’t deserve it, that Richie was a good person.

_ I’m honestly blown away, right now. I, Richard ‘Trashmouth’ Tozier, for the first time in my life, am speechless. _

Eddie turned to him, brow furrowed. “It says here that my dad quit earlier than he actually did. Why . . . why would it say that? He went to work an entire month after this date.”

Trying to clear his thoughts, he sat up and adjusted his glasses. “How do you know he was going to work?” Richie asked.

Eddie looked from the file in his lap, to his desk, and then back at Richie, lips parted. “I guess I didn’t. But, where else could he have gone?”

He shrugged and looked back down at the phone book. After flipping a few more times, there it was, the number on the slip of paper. “Hey . . . this number’s for that nail salon downtown.”

“Rachel’s?”

“Yeah.”

Eddie groaned and threw his head back, hands over his face. “My mom used to make him take her there all the time. It’s totally where his mistress probably works!” he mumbled from behind his fingers.

“Jesus, Eds, just stop and think for a moment about your dad having a mistress. Does that actually make any sense?”

“Well,  _ no, _ but-”

“Then stop,” he said, laughing. “Maybe he didn’t even write that note. Maybe some random lady who wanted to remember the number so she could get a perm later taped it under there.”

“But it’s  _ his handwriting _ . I can tell.”

Richie stood up and brushed off his pants. He placed his hands on his lower back, leaning backward until it cracked, making Eddie grimace. “C’mon,” he mumbled, snatching the scrap of paper from Eddie’s desk and motioning for the boy to follow. “Where’s your phone?”

-

Richie was typing the numbers into the phone next to the kitchen table, Eddie standing next to him. After he was done, the keys devoid of clacking, he pressed call and handed it over to Eddie. 

Eddie’s eyes widened as he shook his head, both hands gripping the white plastic up to his ear. 

Richie patted him on his small back, smiling deviously. While waiting for someone to pick up, he felt something brush his stomach. He glanced down, realizing that Eddie had dropped his right hand to grip the bottom of Richie’s jacket in his clenched fist, like he wanted to keep him there, afraid of the boy leaving him alone.  _ Nope. That’s not cute. Not at all. _

“Huh-hello?” Eddie said, looking into Richie’s eyes.

He could vaguely hear someone’s voice on the other end, a woman who was either talking too fast or who had a thick accent, Richie couldn’t make out what she was saying.

“Oh-uh, no. No, sorry, wrong number,” Eddie said. He waited a moment, before hanging the phone back where it was, ending the call.

“What’d she say?”

“She asked if I wanted a discount on a brazilian blowout, what d’you think she said?” Eddie snapped.

“ _ Fuc _ k,” Richie cursed. He was completely out of ideas. How were they supposed to find out the truth? How did Eddie know that what the police had told him  _ wasn’t  _ the truth? Maybe his dad  _ was _ drinking that night, maybe he had finally given in and drank a few beers because he felt like he needed to. Sure he  _ knew _ his father, but did he really know him? Obviously not, because they were trying to figure out if he had been killed by the mafia or not.

-

They were back upstairs, both sat up against the bed in silence. What was Richie to do, just stand up and leave? He was actually contemplating that, his body was thrumming with nervousness because they weren’t talking. Eddie’s side was pressed against his, his body just warm enough that it kept Richie from leaving. Also, what kept him there was the fact that if he went home, he would risk the chance of seeing his mother again.

“You wanna spend the night?” Eddie suddenly asked, looking up at him.

Richie’s heart jumped. “Really?” he said. “What about your mom?”

Eddie shrugged his small shoulders. “I’ll just lock the door. She’ll probably make a big fuss about it, but . . . I don’t want to be alone right now.”

Richie could see the disappointment in Eddie’s eyes, the way his eyebrows drooped slightly. They really weren’t any closer to finding the truth. He felt like it was somehow his fault. Wasn’t there something else he could do? His chest ached with want.

Richie, trying to make the boy feel a little better, leaned forward.

And he kissed Eddie on the temple.

He immediately pulled back, realizing what he had done.

_ He’s gonna hate me. Why did I do that? What the fuck is wrong with me? Why do I feel like this? _

Eddie pushed Richie away (causing his heart to stop in the most painful way) but then wiped his palm down the side of his head, grimacing. “ _ Ew _ , you  _ fuck _ , what’d you do that for? Probably gave me a disease . . .” His face was already ten shades redder.

“Tag,” Richie whispered, trying to cover up his actions, slightly blowing a relieved breath out.

“ _ What? _ ”

“Tag!” Richie exclaimed, and he stood, propelling himself to the door to rip it open. He ran down the hall on weak legs, trying to hope that he would hear Eddie’s footsteps traveling behind him. And suddenly,  _ he did _ , that along with soft laughter. Richie went to the kitchen, skirting to a stop behind the small island. The other appeared in the doorway, a confused smile on his face.

And then they were running around the table, Eddie trying to catch him.

_ “Come here, you asshole! _ ”

Richie stopped, slowly creeping around the corner, Eddie mimicking his actions on the other side. “You’re  _ gonna have to kiss me to tag me _ , Eds. Just like me and yer mom last night,” he said, laughing. 

“Oh,  _ shut up _ .”

Somehow Eddie had then run fast enough around the table, faster than Richie, to smack him right in the arm, before yelling his victory. “ _ Tag, fucker! _ ” It was short lived though, because as he tried to turn to make his quick escape, Richie scooped him up off of the ground.

Richie wrapped his thin arms under his armpits and across his chest, lifting him up and giggling at how light Eddie was in his hold. “ _ Tag _ ,” he let out.

He had expected Eddie to start yelling and shouting for Richie to drop him, anger practically bellowing from him like smoke. But even though he was squirming and protesting loudly, he was laughing along with Richie. “You’re such a  _ dick _ ,” he giggled. “Put me down! Put me  _ down! _ ”

“No can do, Spaghetti.” But he did, only he kept him trapped there, between his arms. They were both bent over, Richie’s face buried in his neck as they howled with laughter as he tried to tickle him.

“I’m . . . I’m not  _ five _ ,” Eddie barely got out, trying to breathe through his giggles. “ _ Stop tickling me! _ ”

He got a good jab in between his ribs that sent Eddie’s head flying back against the crook of Richie’s shoulder, his own back against the island. Eddie’s back against Richie. He had the chance to just stop to look, to listen to his laughter. Richie nearly died right there on the spot. He realized, with a horrifying shock that made him more ashamed than he had ever been, that he wanted to kiss him again. But not on his temple. No, not there. On his lips. Richie wanted to kiss Eddie on the lips. And he would’ve, he was almost sure he would’ve if they hadn’t heard the front door being unlocked.

Instinctively, the two boys jumped away from each other, Richie nearly slipping on the tiled floor. It was mere seconds before Eddie had grabbed his arm and pulled the tall boy out into the hallway. He shoved them both back into his room, just as the click of the front door could be heard.

“Jeez, I thought she wouldn’t be back this early,” Eddie mumbled, softly shutting and locking the door behind him before he flicked his light off.

“Wait, why-”

“My mom thinks I go to bed at eight every night, shut the fuck up, okay?” he whispered angrily.

Richie couldn’t help but let a laugh tumble out of his throat, his hand coming up to cover his mouth. “Oh my God, you have a bedtime, that’s so cute,” he said, for once, actually thinking about the words he said.  _ It’s true _ .  _ I do think he’s cute. I’m not joking, am I? _

“You’re annoying,” he heard Eddie’s silhouette say in the darkness.

His mother’s footsteps could be heard in the kitchen, a small usual ruckus sounding.

“Here,” Eddie whispered, traveling to the closet. Richie went to sit on his bed as he dug around in there for a few moments. Eventually, he pulled something out that looked, to Richie, like a blanket, as he tried to squint his eyes to decipher what it was.

Eddie came to the bed and laid it out on the floor, after shaking it out a bit. He paused, head tilted down. He pushed the thing a small bit closer to the bed with his socked foot. “You'll probably be too tall for it, but sleeping bags don’t come in sizes for abnormally tall giraffes, so . . .”

“ _ Damn _ , Eds,” he laughed, standing up. 

He heard Eddie stifle a laugh before reaching over to snatch one of his two pillows and thumping it against Richie’s chest. “You need a blanket too?” he asked.

Richie took the pillow and dropped it on the sleeping bag, smiling. “Nah, Spaghetti, I should be fine. If I’m cold I’ll just crawl up on the bed and  _ snuggle  _ with you.”

“If you come up here in the night I’ll kick you off so hard you won’t remember it, Tozier.”

More footsteps outside, both of the boys had got into their own beds, albeit Richie’s being just two layers of fabric on the floor. Richie wasn’t tired, but he thought he could sleep, which was better than most nights. He gave the credit to Eddie being there above him, next to him, casting a reliable feeling in the air.

Speaking of the hypochondriac, Richie glanced up, seeing Eddie’s head resting on his pillow that was pinned on his elbow. His right hand was by his face, the bottom half of the word  _ loser _ only slightly visible on his cast. Eddie was staring right back at him over the edge of the mattress.

Richie gulped and looked away, pulling the top layer of the sleeping bag higher up on his chest, as far as it could go. He could still feel the other’s gaze on him.

“Richie?”

“Yeah, Eds?” he immediately responded, his eyes taking a moment before looking back up at him.

“I’m scared of my mom,” he whispered, clutching the fabric of his pillow.

“Yeah, me too.”

“No,” Eddie continued. “She . . . she tried to make me take pills.”

Richie furrowed his brow, blinked a few times, and then got in a different position so he didn’t have to awkwardly angle his neck to look up at him. “What do you mean?”

“Placebos. You know what they are right?” he asked quietly.

He had thought he had heard the word before, maybe on the television, or maybe somewhere in health class in middle school. Yes, that was where he had heard it from, he remembered. “Aren’t those, like, sugar pills? That doctor’s give to people who think they’re sick?”

He gave a small nod. “She made me think I was sick. After my dad died. Suddenly I had like forty different allergies and carried one of those EpiPens around in my fanny pack. Pill bottles too. I had a watch that she set to go off when it was time for me to take them.”

“Eds, that’s . . .” He couldn’t believe it. No wonder Beverly had told him that when they walked home together that first day that Eddie had looked scared. It was his mother standing in the window. Richie felt sick, no, he felt furious. He didn’t think he could sleep anymore. “That’s  _ fucked _ .”

“Yeah. I’m almost perfectly normal though, health-wise.”

Richie nodded. “Except for your asthma.”

To Richie’s disbelief, Eddie slowly shook his head. “I don’t-” He seemed choked up, so he cleared his throat and tried to continue. “I don’t have asthma,” he whispered, barely audible.

He had to repeat the words in his head to understand them.  _ I don’t have asthma. I don’t have asthma _ . _ Eddie doesn’t have asthma. _

Eddie let out a small wet laugh. “My inhaler’s a placebo, Richie. And I only use it because some part of my head still fuckin’ believes it enough to stop my panic attacks. Because part of me still  _ believes  _ her. I hate . . . I  _ fucking hate _ -”

Richie reached up to grab his partially visible hand like Eddie had done for him earlier. He watched as he wiped his face with his other hand, his features not discernible enough in the dark to tell if he was crying or not. Richie thought he was. “Jesus,” he mumbled. “We’re so fucked up.”

He heard Eddie giggle, sniffling a little. “It’s not so bad. With . . . you know . . .”

Richie felt his heart swell and squeezed the other’s fingertips. “Someone else?” 

Eddie didn’t answer, maybe because if he said yes it would have certain connotations. Richie desperately wanted him to say anything at all, but settled with the barely-there squeeze his own fingers received in return. He let his hand fall away and land softly on his chest as he looked away from Eddie, up to the ceiling. He was thinking too much, feeling too many things he didn’t want to feel then, and he knew he couldn’t ignore it anymore. In the morning he would either come to a decision with himself or try to forget all of it like he had tried to do before. 

Richie wasn’t sure which was worse. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, whoops, on the other chapters when I copy-pasted them into archive there were random spaces around words in italic and so I fixed only this chapter, forget that that happened lmaooo
> 
> Edit- oml never mind it's still fucked up imma just leave it


	12. Please Don't Tell Them

“ _ Jesus _ ,  _ Bev _ , don’t cut my ear off-”

"Stop moving and I won’t,” Beverly responded, adjusting his head so that it was tilted slightly to the left.

“It’s looking good, Richie.”

" _ Thanks,  _ Haystack," Richie said with a laugh. "Hope I didn't interrupt anything too important, did I?" He took a glance behind him at Beverly, suggestively wagging his black eyebrows.

Beverly  _ wapped _ him on the back of his head with the palm of her free hand, as nonchalantly as she could. 

Richie let out a cackle and watched Ben's face redden in the mirror. 

When he had woken up in the morning, lying on the floor next to Eddie’s bed, he had felt oddly peaceful. It was quiet in the room, his skin cool to the touch. He had woke facing the bed and as soon as his eyes opened they shifted up towards the other boy. Just his lean fingers were visible, hanging off of the side of the sheeted mattress. Richie had the urge to touch them, like the night before, to feel the soft skin of his hand and let their limbs just  _ be _ , entangled together.

But, of course, he couldn’t do that. He  _ wouldn’t _ . Richie knew what it would mean if he did.

So, the boy decided to leave. He left a note saying something or other about Eddie’s mom, trying not to let his eyes linger on Eddie’s face as he slept. He still couldn’t help staring just a little bit before he departed.

Richie had also caught a glance at himself in the mirror and,  _ wow, do I look like shit _ . His hair was clumped and at different lengths and he was embarrassed that Eddie had seen him like that, glad he didn’t tool on him too hard for it. 

That was how he ended up at Beverly’s apartment building. He snuck through the door with the spare key that was under the torn rug against the dirty trimmings of the wall and crept through the hallway as to not wake her sleeping dad in the living room. When he had opened her door however, he caught a glimpse of something he would be happy to erase from his memory forever. He was thankful to have seen nothing more than kissing, but couldn’t be sure if that was all it was because they separated from each other so fast he didn’t quite catch everything. 

Richie nearly burst out laughing as he thought of it again, at how shocked their faces were, mouths open and gaping like fish. It nearly made him forget why he had went to Bev’s home in the first place, but it was the first thing she brought up when she saw him. Other than the awkward  _ ums _ and Richie’s hysterical laughter filling the room, it was the first thing.

Beverly had cut her own hair in middle school, short enough that kids at school started to call her  _ dyke _ and acted like she was a boy to mock her. But, Richie thought it made her look  _ more _ womanly and feminine, her orange hair curling around her ears and shining in the sun. He eagerly hoped this feeling meant he had a crush on her, but . . . It wasn’t like that. And he had realized it couldn’t ever be like that. Because Bev was one of his best friends and he found himself not being attracted to any girls at all, let alone Beverly, which really made him worry.

Nevertheless, he thought she could fix whatever the hell his hair was doing.

“Almost finished,” she said under her breath.

He could hear the sheer sound of the scissors cutting, reminding him of how his hair had come to be this way in the first place. He thought that Beverly knew along the lines of what had happened and that’s why she hadn’t asked. It made him feel awkward.

“There,” she said happily, brushing off his shoulders. 

He looked at himself, at how short it was in comparison to what had been there before. It was slightly wavy, not long enough to curl, but only turn up at the ends around his neck and behind his ears. He was endlessly thankful that his mother hadn’t touched his bangs or else it would’ve been hopeless.

“So?”

Richie stood up, grabbing his shirt collar to shake it to try and rid the fabric of the excess hair. He looked at her with a raised eyebrow, unsure of what she wanted him to say.

She sighed and lightly nudged him in the arm. “I dd the best I could with what I could work with, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, okay. Thanks. I better get going. Got important things to do. Girls to fuck. You know the deal.”

And then it was Beverly’s turn to raise an eyebrow up at him, which he ignored. “Seeya, Haystack!” Richie called to Ben who was still sat on the bed, ears pink.

“Later, Rich,” he responded.

Before completely closing the door as he went out, Richie quickly told them, “Remember to use protection, Kids,” and then retreated out of the apartment as fast as he could so Bev couldn’t get the chance to murder him.

-

“So, Class, we are starting our first official  _ big _ project. We only do two of these prompt assignments every year and usually my students actually find it to be enjoyable, believe it or not.” Ms. Williams let her eyes travel over the unimpressed and unenthused faces of her class, silently sucking in a breath through her teeth. “So, I’ll give a prompt, and you’ll get one of the class cameras to use during the period. You’ll also be allowed to take them home if need be. After the image is taken, and printed of course, you’ll have to finish one of the rubrics like always and answer  _ all _ of the questions.”

Bill, beside him, looked pleasantly surprised by this information. Richie squinted his eyes in displeasure as he peered at what was projected, through his new un-cracked glasses. “Oh, this is fucking boring,” he muttered under his breath.

“So,” Ms. Williams continued, switching to the next slide. “Your prompt for the project is the word, or idea:  _ beautiful _ . And I’m not talking about photos of flowers, trust me, there is no cheesier picture in the world for the word beautiful. Your photo has to have a deeper meaning to it. What does beautiful mean to you? Understand?”

Richie grimaced and looked down at the sheet in front of him, his rubric. He had yet to turn in a single assignment for the class and was planning on doing the same for this project as well. Richie could definitely do it, and probably do it well, it was just that he didn’t want to. The only reason he took photography was to have a class with his friend and to slack off the entire time. He didn’t expect it to be this much work. With everything going on how was he even supposed to focus on school anyway.

Nearing the end of the period, Ms. Williams had, of course, called Richie to the side to talk to him.

“You know you’re currently failing, right?” she had asked.

He nodded. “Uh-yep.”

She tilted her chin down at him. “Are you planning on doing anything for this assignment?”

“Sure,” he lied.

She pushed a black lock of her hair behind her shoulder, motioning for him to walk behind her desk. “Here,” she said, taking out a manilla folder that reminded him of the one he had found at the fire station. “I’m telling you, you would really enjoy it.”

He crossed his arms stiffly. “How do you know?”

“Well, let’s be honest. It’s true you haven’t given me anything to  _ grade,  _ but I’ve seen you while you’re working. Maybe it’s little half-assed-”

Richie let out a laugh.

“But I see potential in you, Richie. I  _ really _ do.” She opened the folder to pull out a stack of photos. “These are students’ art from last year. The prompt for this one was  _ imagination _ .”

He grimaced once again. “Imagination? Couldn’t everyone just do anything then?” He grabbed the few he was handed, looking up at her.

“Well, not exactly. But it’s all up to interpretation, so . . .”

Richie looked down at the few photos between his fingers, flipping through them. The first that caught his eye was of some guy surrounded by people who were all shooting off paint cans at him. His skin was covered with color.  _ You know how terrible spray paint is for your skin, Richie? _ He heard Eddie’s voice say in his mind.  _ He better’ve washed that off immediately afterward.  _ He smiled.

“Please tell me you’ll at least try.”

He handed them back to her, debating on what to say. “I . . . I will,” he answered, slightly nodding.

She gave a smile. “Good.”

-

“No, seriously guys, we weren’t doing anything.”

“ _ Bev! _ I fucking walked in on you two suckin’ face. Are you kidding me?” Richie exclaimed, throwing his hands out in front of him as they walked.

“ _ Ew _ , Jesus Christ, I don’t need to know the details,” Stan said, covering his face.

“Now look, you’ve upset Stan,” Beverly told him.

“When isn’t Stan upset?” he retorted loudly. “Stop fuckin’ lying to them,” Richie said with a laugh.

“Why’d you even ask her to cu-cut your hair?” Bill asked.

“A guy needs to change it up a bit, is that okay with you?”

“Okay, okay,  _ Bev _ ,” Stan intercepted. “You hooked up with Ben and you didn’t  _ tell _ me?”

She groaned into her hands, holding them there for a bit before coming back up for air. “ _ We didn’t hook up.  _ We just kissed, okay?”

“So you  _ did _ kiss!”

Richie broke out into laughter against the back of his hand, gripping Bill’s shoulder with his other. 

The four of them were heading to the barrens to wander like they usually did. It was somehow warm that day, although they still had thin jackets to protect them from the sharp breeze. Bowers and his friends had been less-active as of late, so they thought it was the perfect time to get out.

“Huh-hey,” Bill stuttered after his friends’ argument had died down. “Isn’t that Eddie?”

Richie whipped his head in the direction Bill was talking about, up and across the street and in front of Keene’s pharmacy. And, yes, there Eddie was, standing with two other boys.

“Oh my  _ gosh _ ,” Bill continued, laughing. “He’s with b-Ben.”

Beverly’s face scrunched up in embarrassment as the three looked at her.

They caught up with them, Richie calling out, “Eddie Spaghetti!” and nearly skipping as he waved at him.

Eddie had to put his palms up to stop Richie from crashing into him and knocking them both to the sidewalk. “Jesus,  _ Trashmouth _ . You’re so clumsy,” he told him, like they were the only two people there.

Richie smiled down at him.

“Who’re these guys?”

Richie looked at who spoke, the only person in the group that he didn’t know. He was as tall as Richie, maybe even a small bit taller, with clear dark skin and a sturdy frame. He had a wide welcoming smile. Ben was next to him, eyes shyly glued to Beverly as she desperately tried to ignore the open secret that had just been discussed between them.

“Oh, right. Mike, meet Stan, Beverly, Richie, and Bill. Guys, meet Mike.”

_ Ah. So that’s Mike _ . “C’mon, Spagheds, don’t forget about Ben Handsome over here.” He reached over to pat him on the shoulder. “Right, Bev-” He was elbowed in the stomach before he could finish, making him double over with an  _ oof, _ his eyebrows scrunched together.  _ “Ooh, shit, shit, I can’t breathe-” _

He could hear Eddie nearly screaming with laughter above him. “Get  _ fucked _ , Tozier,” he heard him giggle out.

“_Oh_, _fuck . . . I think you burst my kidney, Bev . . .”_ He was clutching his stomach, hearing the small boy howl with laughter even harder. Able to steal a few deep breaths into his lungs, Richie quickly lunged forward to pick Eddie up off of his feet, like he always did. “Stop laughing, you _little_ _turd,” _he blurt out.

As he had done about a hundred times before, Eddie was flailing and yelling and kicking. While Richie held him over his left shoulder, nearly toppling over in the process, he stuck his right hand out. “Sorry, nice to meetya, Mikey,” he huffed out with a smile, seriously struggling.

Mike laughed in response, thankfully, took Richie’s hand, and shook it. “Back at you.”

Suddenly, Eddie had broken free of his grip and slid down to the ground, simultaneously pushing Richie away. “God, I  _ despise _ you,” he nearly growled, patting his hair back in place.

“Come on,  _ Eds _ . I already told you I’m a lover, not a fighter.” He methodically dropped to his knees. “Please, forgive lil’ ol’ me?” Richie started to move his arms up and down, pretending to worship at the boy’s feet.

“ _ Get the fuck up, douchebag, people are starting to stare _ ,” Eddie hissed, embarrassed.

So, Richie followed orders and stood, his smile never faltering.

“What’re you guys doing here?” Stan asked, zipping his jacket higher on his chest.

“Just hangin’ out,” Eddie answered. He tilted his head back to roll his eyes. “ _ And _ pick up a new inhaler. Speaking of which . . .” He stuck his finger towards the pharmacy, giving a small smile as he excused himself.

“I’ll come with,” Richie excitedly said, following the small hypochondriac inside as the others waited. 

Eddie furrowed his brows up at him, softly hitting him in the arm as they walked through the creme isles. It was mostly empty except for one man waiting to be tended to at the back desk. The two boys stood behind him in silence for a few seconds, hearing the ugly elevator music quietly play through the speakers.

Richie felt oddly nervous. He was rolling on the balls of his feet, constantly looking back and forth between Eddie and his own shoes. “You weren’t at school today, Richie noted, looking down at him. 

Eddie nodded, eyes wandering behind the counter. “I coughed literally  _ once _ this morning and my mom thought I had pneumonia,” he shrugged.

Richie bit the inside of his cheek and frowned, surveying the other’s profile.

The pharmacist,  _ Mr. Keene _ , came back to the counter then, handing a bag over to the man in front of them. The customer promptly left with a, “Thank you,” the two boys taking his place moments afterward, Eddie plopping his casted arm on the countertop.

“Hi, Eddie. Here for your inhaler?” Mr. Keene asked.

It took everything for Richie not to say something to the man and it took even more to not let his face show that he was thoroughly disturbed. He felt off around Mr. Keene, with the way he smiled with one corner of his mouth slightly more upturned than the other, to the way he would always stare at Beverly with hungry eyes whenever the four of them entered the pharmacy. It gave him the creeps. 

“Yeah,” Eddie answered, warily shifting on his feet.

The man nodded, smiling before leaving once again to go into the back room.

As soon as he had left, Richie had noticed that Gretta Keene was sitting there, up against the wall in a chair, a  _ Tiger Beat  _ magazine open in her hands. However, she was not reading, she had her eyes glued to the other two teens. “Hey, losers. You two on a date or something?” she asked, loudly smacking on a piece of gum.

Instead of digesting her words too long (ignoring the sting that he felt in his chest) he retorted, “And you’re, what, still single and doomed to die alone?”

Her face dropped in response, Eddie beside him letting out a huff of laughter and hurriedly covering his lips with the palm of his hand after.

“ _ You _ -”

Mr. Keene had already made his way out of the spare room, carrying a bag that was folded closed and stapled shut. “Here you go,” he said, giving it to Eddie.

“Thanks.”

They decided to book it out of there then, as fast as they could, before Gretta could skin them alive and wear them as a coat. As soon as they broke out into fresh cool air, both giggling like idiots, the rest of their friends were mingling and talking amongst themselves.

“They’re gonna cuh-come with us to the buh-barrens,” Bill told Richie.

He raised his eyebrows in response, turning to look at Eddie. “Whaddya say, Eds? You up for some  _ actual _ fun?”

“I _ have fun _ ,” Eddie argued, chin up. “And don’t call me Eds.”

“See?” Richie said, turning to look at Bill once again. “No fun.” He shook his head in fake disappointment.

-

Traveling to the barrens was always a tricky thing for the four friends (now  _ seven, _ which Richie thought felt somehow perfect, somehow _ right _ ), mostly because they had to keep looking over their shoulders to make sure no one was following them. But this time, Richie thought, they didn’t even check. Because, to him at least, all of them together felt like a force  _ nothing _ could stop. For the first time in his whole life, he felt comfortable being in an outside space and it made him incredibly happy.

Halfway to the barrens now, stepping through the trees, Richie leaned over to whisper to Eddie. “How’re you doing? With . . . you know . . .”

Eddie smiled sadly. “Disappointed,” he answered quietly. “But, I don’t know . . .” He continued, eyes to the ground, “If you don’t want to help anymore, it’s okay. I want to keep trying.”

“ _ Psssh _ . You’re crazy if you think I’d let you do this by yourself. Ten minutes in, you’d be freaking out about a fake mistress or something.”

Eddie pushed him away with a roll of his eyes and went to talk with Beverly.

Mike caught up with Richie then, giving a small laugh. “Hey, man.”

“ _ Hey _ , Mikey. What’s up?”

“Oh, nothing. Just, you and Eddie really hit it off, huh? Don’t tell him I told you, but, he talks about you a lot.”

Richie turned red, pulling at the neck of his shirt. “Oh, he does? Heh. Yeah, we, we uh . . . we’re pretty good friends.”  _ Stop being so awkward, fuckface. Or else they’ll know.  _

_ Know what? _

_ Oh, fuck off. _

In the barrens, they had recently found an old treehouse. They didn’t know where it came from, or who had built it there, but they declared it as theirs, so it was.

“Who would even build a treehouse in the middle of nowhere?” Eddie asked, grimacing at the rotted wooden ladder hanging down.

“Someone who knows how to have fun, unlike  _ someone else  _ I know,” Richie stated, immediately starting to climb up the ladder.

Eddie rolled his eyes. “No way I’m going up there,” he said. “It looks  _ gross _ . And no way will it fit all seven of us.”

“He’s got a point, Richie,” Stan agreed. “I don’t want it collapsing with us up there.”

Richie groaned, throwing his head back as he was halfway up. “Then you guys stay down here, wimps. I’m goin’ up.”

“Why don’t we go oh-over to the creek? It’s right there,” Bill suggested.

“Jesus, you guys are such  _ pussies _ ,” Richie complained. “I’ll be up here while you pansies play in the stream.” He went up, the rest of his friends shrugging him off and stepping over to the creek, which was just close enough to where Richie could see the entire thing from inside of the treehouse. He sat next to the ladder, his feet dangling off as he looked out through the trees. It was a pretty nice view. He noticed that below Eddie was still stood there, looking in between the hanging ladder and the short walk to the creek. His chest rose and fell with a huff, before he turned to grab the rotting wooden planks to climb up.

Richie watched him the whole way, nervousness flooding his core. “Hey, Eds. You come up here to push me off to my death?” he asked as the boy made it to the top.

Eddie sat on the other side of the ladder, grimacing as he wiped his hands on his jeans. “If you call me Eds again, then yeah, I will.”

Richie smiled and looked at his lap. 

“Hey, so . . . I went to Rachel’s Salon,” Eddie said quietly, like there were other people around him who he didn’t want to hear what he was talking about. “To look around. I wasn’t really sure what to look for, y’know. So I didn't really find anything.”

“You went by yourself?” he asked, brow furrowed. “You could’ve told me. I could’ve helped.”

“Yeah, I know. I just don’t want you to feel, like, burdened by all my shit, you know?” Eddie said. He looked helpless. 

“Eds, it’s okay. I  _ want _ to help. Let me help, okay?”

Eddie’s lip quivered and he looked away, into the trees and down at their friends, eyes glossed over. He nodded and looked to his feet, taking in a watery breath. “I feel like I’ll never be able to stop feeling sad,” he barely said.

Richie didn't know what to say, he didn’t know what to do. “Do . . . do you want a hug, Eds?”

The boy nodded again, both of them standing. Eddie slowly came toward him, the other’s arms open. They were slightly in the darkness, guaranteeing the others couldn’t see them.

And when Eddie was in his arms, Richie let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He realized he had been missing him, yearning for the back of their hands to brush like the way they did, even though Richie had just seen him the other day. 

Eddie let out a sniffle and rested his cast around Richie’s shoulders. “I hate you,” he whispered.

Richie laughed heartily against the side of his head.”Why?” he whispered.

Eddie let out a grumble as he pulled them together tighter.

“Why?” he asked again.

“Because you always make me feel better even though you’re a fucking asshole.”

“Eds . . .” He wanted to say something. At the same time, he knew and didn’t know what it was. It was on the tip of his tongue but his chest felt tight and hot and he clamped his eyes and mouth shut forcefully. He released his lips just as soon though, to let out a breath and say, “I’ve gotta go.” Richie pulled away, ashamed.

“Why?” Eddie asked.

“I totally forgot about this assignment that I have to do in photography. It’s-um, it’s due soon,” he said, voice cracking as he glanced to the floorboards. It wasn’t. It was due the next Friday. Richie didn’t know what he was doing. But he was uncomfortable and he needed to figure things out, and with Eddie there it was making it all too real for him.  _ God fucking damn it. Why am I so nervous again? Why can’t I breathe . . . I can’t breathe- _

“Richie? Rich, are you okay?” the other boy asked, becoming aware that something was wrong, something was going on.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, Spaghetti. I’m just gonna go home,” he said softly, inhaling through his nose unsteadily. He carefully yet hurriedly exited the treehouse and climbed down the ladder, leaving Eddie to look down at him in shock.

Richie didn’t want for Eddie to follow him and he knew he would try, he had heard him call his name again, so he picked up his pace, nearly running to escape the situation. His hands had started to shake at his sides and he felt dizzy, trying to catch his breath. He stopped at a tree to lean against it and gasped for air, pressing his palm against his chest. “ _ Fuck _ ,” he breathed, tears pricking at his eyes. He didn’t know he had run so far, he was nearly out of the woods now, he hadn’t even noticed he was moving for that long. Richie couldn’t think, he could only cry, sinking down to his knees into the dirt. His stomach was twisting and knotting. Trying to catch his bearings, even though he could barely think, he placed his stuttering hands against the bark of the tree and pressed his forehead against it.  _ Why can’t I feel like everyone else? Why can’t I ignore it? It’s not fair. Why me? Why aren’t I normal? Please, someone . . . I need someone. God, not Eddie. Why is it Eddie? Why is he so perfect? I shouldn’t be in love with him like I am. I am. Please, I don’t want to be like this. Everyone’s gonna hate me. Why can’t I stop? Please make it stop make it stop make it- _

“ _ Richie!?” _

It was Beverly’s voice that shouted through the trees, but he didn’t look up, only pushed his head harder against the tree, trying to hide himself. He was sweating, the warm sensation a stark contrast to the wind.

“ _ Richie _ ,” he heard again, as hands came to pull at his shoulders. 

He let himself be pulled away and took another gasp for air as his chest tightened. Bev looked into his eyes and nodded like she had done this before. Maybe she had. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. Just breathe, Richie. Follow like this. In,” her chest expanded, “and out,” she breathed a steady breath out, the boy unsure of how she could be so calm.

He tried to follow her for a while, but couldn’t get lost in her ministrations. He couldn’t ignore it anymore. He needed to tell someone, and she was there. So, with a sob, he rasped, “ _ I’m in l-love with him. I’m gay, Bev _ .”

She took him in her arms, as his mother would’ve done years ago, and let him cry.

“Please don’t tell them.  _ Please. _ ”

“They already know.  _ I _ already know.”

This thought dawning on him made his eyes grow wide with terror.

“Richie. It’s  _ okay _ . We love you. Don’t you know that? Nothing would make us stop loving you. You’re safe with us.”

He couldn’t believe it. He really couldn’t. Richie let out another sob as he held Beverly tighter, and he  _ smiled _ . Of course they wouldn’t hate him. They had known each other their entire lives, they were practically siblings, they wouldn’t get rid of him that easily.

“Eddie ran over to us so fast, I thought you had fallen out of the treehouse and died or something,” Beverly said, giving a laugh. “I told him I’d check on you, I think he was too awkward to say he wanted to come with. You know . . .”

Richie pulled back away from her and pushed his hands up under his glasses to wipe his eyes. His face was red and flushed. “What?”

“Okay, don’t get mad at me or anything, but listen. He likes you too.”

Richie rolled his eyes. “ _ Beverly, no he doesn’t.” She tried to speak again but he cut her off. “Stop.” _

__

__

“You two always go off alone with each other and it’s not just you following him around, he’s-”

__

__

“Does he know? About . . . About  _ me _ ?” He reached up to adjust his glasses nervously.

__

__

Beverly shrugged kindly. “I don’t think so. Maybe you should tell him.”

__

__

Richie furrowed his brow. “Are you  _ kidding _ me?Tell him? About which part? The fact that I’m gay as shit and he’ll think all of this time I’ve been teasing him because I like him and then be disgusted by me? Or the fact that I like him and he’ll realize that  _ yes _ I’ve been teasing him all this time because I like him and then be disgusted by me?”

__

__

Beverly looked away, thinking. “Maybe both.”

__

__

Richie groaned and stood up, brushing his jeans off and rubbing the dirt off of his forehead with the sleeve of his jacket. 

__

__

She followed him up, crossing her arms over her chest as she stood. “You don’t really think that, do you? That’s not Eddie. He would never be  _ actually _ disgusted by you. Yeah, he might  _ act _ like it, but not because he doesn’t like you. It’s because he does. Listen, I’m not trying to force you to do something you don’t want to. If you’re uncomfortable telling Eddie, that’s fine. But I just feel like you might be missing out on an opportunity to be  _ in love _ with someone and be loved back.”

__

__

Oh no, Richie was definitely already in love with him. He was sure he couldn’t be more so.

__

__

“Just . . . Promise you’ll think about it. Okay?”

__

__

“Yeah, I’ll think about how much of a bad idea it is,” Richie told her.

__

__

They stood for a moment, still in the welcome silence. Richie stepped forward to hug her again. “Thank you,” he said.

__

__

“No problem, Trashmouth.”

__


	13. Is This Awkward?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternatively titled 'Beautiful', or, 'You're a Natural, Eds', but I couldn't make up my mind because I'm the most indecisive person ever, so there's that.

Wednesday, Richie walked into photography class with a confidence to his stride that could only mean one thing: He had actually done his homework. Yes, it had taken everything for him to sit down and do it, but it was done. He stepped up to Ms. William’s desk with a sneaky smile and cleared his throat.

She looked up from what she was writing, a thinly drawn black eyebrow darting up to wrinkle her forehead.

He stuck the indigo folder out, grinning wide.

She gave a small gasp and then smiled, taking it from him. “I wonder . . .” She took it in her hands and opened the folder, moving the rubric to the side so she could see the photograph behind it. Richie watched her eyes move left and right, up and down, observing his work. But, he watched as her smile dropped (causing his to do the same) before she delicately placed the folder on her desk to look back up at him. “Richie. This is just a picture of the quarry.”

“I know,” he said, trying to smile again. “It’s  _ beautiful _ . I explained it on my rubric.”

She opened her mouth to speak, then paused, then continued with, “What about the quarry makes it beautiful?”

He quirked an eyebrow down at her. “Uh . . . Well, it’s a view, views are pretty, right? Oh fuck, do you like have some political view about how politicians are like putting chemicals in the water or some shit and killing all the fish because I-”

“ _ Language _ , Richie,” she interrupted like she was only doing it because she was obligated to. “Yes, a view can be beautiful, but it’s what makes it beautiful to  _ you _ . This project is supposed to be about something you find beautiful that other people might not understand, or might not take a second glance at.” She handed the folder back and he took it slowly, dejectedly.

“So . . . Do I get an F?”

She took a moment to think, taking her pen to tap on her paper a few times. “Anyone would be able to say that what was captured in your photo is beautiful, so technically, you didn’t meet the requirements. But, let’s make a deal.”

He nodded, thinking,  _ well, it depends. _

“If you promise to do this,  _ and really do it _ , I’ll give you a second chance,” she told him.

He let out a sigh. “Listen, Ms. Williams, I know you want me to pass and all that but, really, I don’t think I’m cut out for this. Like, this project to me, don’t be mad but, it’s  _ the worst, _ ” he said, throwing his hands out matter-of-factly. “I hate it. Why should we tell you something so personal like that? It’s honestly personal, right? What if I don’t want to? I have a right to keep that to myself and not . . . release it to the world.”

“Maybe that’s the problem. You’re not ready to accept what you think is beautiful is actually beautiful,” she told Richie, like she  _ knew _ him.

He gulped, eyes flying to the ground, feeling like he had been punched in the gut.

“Please try harder,” Ms. Williams said, nodding as she went back to work.

-

“Like-what a bitch, right? I did the work, why won’t she just give me a grade and just be done with it? I don’t understand all this symbolic bullshit that teachers try to shove down our throats. Maybe Shakespeare was just a fucking psycho who thought he was  _ so smart _ thinking of all these new words and-and  _ maybe _ , just _ maybe _ , the word beautiful just means beautiful and not this random secret definition she’s hiding from me.”

Ben blinked a few times, a ham sandwich frozen in the air in his hands as he stared at Richie. He put it down slowly and brushed his hands off on his pants, contemplating what he had told him. “Well, I think she probably just wants you to get a good grade. You could make something up maybe?”

“Ben, I’m so bad at photography I don’t even know how to fake it,” Richie said, letting his shoulders sag.

“Okay, how about this. Say the first word that comes to your mind after I say one.”

“Uh . . . what?”

“Just trust me. Three, two, one . . . beautiful.”

“Eddie,” Richie blurted out. “Uh-I mean-I mean, no, not-not Eddie, I didn’t-”

Ben gave a soft chuckle. “It’s fine Richie, I’m not homophobic.”

Richie nearly went cross-eyed. “ _ No _ , Ben I’m not-I’m not gay or anything, I just-”

“Richie I’ve seen the way you look at him. We all have.”

_ How come everyone knew I was gay except me, the fuck-  _ “Oh yeah? Well, how would you know, Ben? Oh right, because you’re in love with Beverly and look at her like that all the time.”

Ben’s face turned red, like someone had flipped a switch. “What-  _ No-” _

“Uh yeah you are buddy.”

“Well, you’re _in_ _love with Eddie-_”

“Keep your voice down, Haystack, I swear to-”

“What are you guh-guys talking about?” Bill’s voice cut in as he sat next to Richie, setting his lunch tray in front of him.

“Nothing,” they said in unison, Richie sticking his face in his hands.

-

It was gym, Richie sweating more than usual because of what was on his mind. The class was running laps around the gym, being overseen by Mr. Thompson who stood in the middle to make sure no one was slacking off. Richie’s eyes kept getting stuck on one wall, the one where Eddie was pressed up against as he sat on the floor. His mother wouldn’t let the boy participate in any vigorous activity (basically anything other than walking) so almost every day he sat there, doing homework for other classes, or shaking his head at Richie in fake disappointment if he did something  _ weird _ in group sports or accidentally scored a point in whatever game they were playing. So, that’s what he was looking at now, the small shape of the boy who he had pretended to not have feelings for over the span of the entirety of his high school experience thus far.

Eddie always looked so lonely sitting there, his eyes always looked as if they were yearning to get out with everyone else and participate. Richie, however, couldn't say the same about gym class, and always complained to Eddie about how he was so lucky as to not be able to take part in such a torturous activity. He amounted Eddie's longing up to never being able to try it himself (wondering what he was missing out on, even if the natural consensus was that it was horrible) and was almost a hundred percent positive he would hate it as much as he did if he had been exposed to what P.E. was really like.

Still, Richie felt bad. So, turning to walk down the side of the gym where Eddie was sat, he pulled him up and with him as he went by.

Eddie nearly tripped, grabbing onto Richie’s arm for balance. “Just because I’m light doesn’t mean you can drag me around,  _ asshole _ .”

Richie squinted his eyes for a moment. “Actually I think it does.”

The boy looked past Richie to glance at the teacher, keeping up with his running pace. “What d’you want? If Mr. Thompson sees me running he’ll make me sit back down. My mom already yelled at him twice.”

Richie went silent, trying to think of a way as to not make this sound as weird as it definitely was. He sucked in a breath, starting with, “Uh,” and turning his eyes to the ground. “Can I ask a favor from you?”

“That depends, Trashmouth, does it have anything to do with moving a body?”

Richie let out a laugh, shaking his head.

“Of course,” Eddie suddenly said, making the other look up at him. “I owe you. Anything.”

“It’s not anything like that,” Richie said shyly, rubbing the back of his neck. He slowed down a little to catch his breath, realizing he had absent-mindedly started to run faster out of nervousness. “So if we’re gonna do this, right, meet me at my house at eleven, bring two shovels and a roll of duct tape, and do not tell anyone where you’re going-”

“Beep beep, Richie,” he stated clearly. 

“‘ _ Beep beep’ _ ?”

Eddie groaned. “What, you’ve never seen  _ Roadrunner _ ? Or think of it as a car honking. Or,  _ slow down _ , or  _ shut the fuck up, Richie, you’re talking too much _ .”

He laughed again, nearly snorting, but saving himself from the embarrassment by covering his mouth with his hand. He dropped it, saying, “You’ve been thinking about this a lot, huh?”

“ _ No, I _ -” He lifted his right hand to the side of his head, his fingers pointing up to the tall ceiling as he inhaled roughly through his nose, frustrated. “Just ask me whatever you need to ask me already,  _ Jesus _ ,” he quickly said.

“I know I’m your savior, Eds, but there’s no need to call me-”

“ _ Richie! _ ”

“Fine-fine-fine-fine. Okay, so, you know how I’ve got that dumb photography class?”

Eddie nodded, eyebrows furrowed.

“Well, I’ve got this project, right? And I was wondering . . .” Out of breath, he clenched his eyes shut, breathing heavily. “Could I take a few pictures of  _ you _ for it?” When he reopened his eyes, timidly looking at Eddie, he realized that the other was barely breathless. But his face had flooded with red, after Richie’s words, behind his freckles which stood out more because of it. 

“Wh- . . . You want-you want to take pictures of _me_?”

Richie shrugged and looked away. “Yeah. It’s not a big deal, we just have to take pictures of-,” he racked his brain for a lie because there was _no way_ _in hell_ he was telling him about what the assignment was really about, doing that was suicide, “-you know, just _people_. And then put them in a collage.”

“Oh,” he said and paused. “Okay. Sure. Yeah.”

“You sound awkward. Is this awkward?”

“Who said it was awkward? Why would it be awkward?”

“Well you sound pretty awkward right now, Eds, like it’s weirding you out, and I’m not trying to weird you out, I’m just trying to do my assignment-”

“Why would it weird me out? I’m totally fine with-”

“Well, it doesn’t  _ sound _ like it’s fine-”

“Well, I’m telling you it’s fine, so you should just listen for once and shut your goddamn-”

“Eddie, you  _ definitely  _ sound weirded out-”

Mr. Thompson blew his whistle, indicating the end of the period, and interrupting their bickering.

The thirty or so students, relieved, retreated to their lockers to change, Richie and Eddie side by side.

“So . . . yeah. Could we do it today? Meet me at the quarry, on the cliff, around four?”

“Sure.”

Richie smiled and adjusted his glasses before looking down to the floor (as he now did a lot around Eddie). They didn’t say anything else as they were heading to the locker room, Richie just thinking over the situation and letting out a breath of relief.  _ I sure am sticking my neck out for this dumb fucking class. _

-

After school, Richie had stopped by his photography room to pick up his camera from the class set, and then already headed up to the cliff that hung over the quarry because he needed to get his bearings and relax. He was overly nervous. He was second-guessing himself and wishing he hadn’t asked Eddie in the first place. What was he doing? This was dangerous. What happened when Eddie found out what the project was really about?  _ He won’t.  _ And what if he does? What will you tell him then, Richie? What will you do when he finds out your  _ dirty little secret? _

_ He won’t. Because I’ll make sure he doesn’t. Maybe this is selfish. Maybe it’s gross. With him not knowing what I’m really taking his picture for . . . that’s sleazy. Fuck, maybe I really shouldn’t do this. I’ll just take the bad grade. Better than blatantly lying to your friend so you can use his picture to represent what you really think of him, literally the gayest thing ever. Jeezum crow. _

The cold had let up that day, so he had taken his coat off to throw beside a tree. Richie unzipped the camera case that was around his neck to look at the device sadly. He liked using a camera actually. It was better than calculating in math or flipping through textbooks in history at least. He just wished he could actually do something with it. Something he didn’t have to be ashamed of. 

It wasn’t long before Eddie showed up, and Richie sprung up in surprise from the place he had sat on the ground. “Hey, Eds,” he said, confused as he took in his appearance.

“Hello,” he said,  _ definitely awkwardly _ , as he came to stand in front of him. “Sorry, am I late or something?” he asked, his fingers fidgeting in front of him.

Richie shook his head. “No-uh . . . No. It’s just . . .” He looked him up and down. He was starting to blush himself.

“Oh!” Eddie said in surprise, realization. “I didn’t know what you wanted me to wear, or if I was even supposed to wear something special, so . . . I just decided to dress nice.”

And dressed nice, he was. Eddie was wearing a thick dark green turtleneck with a sweater over it (one sleeve pushed up above his cast), jeans that were fitted perfectly, and nice tennis shoes. The boy’s hair looked softer (somehow) and it was waved the smallest bit, just enough to make Richie’s throat tight. 

“Jeez, I look like such a nerd right now,” he said with a laugh, glancing down. “I could go home and change if you want?”

Richie methodically shook his head. “No!-No, I mean, it’s fine . . . you look . . .  _ nice _ .”  _ Nice? Yeah, right. He looks like the frickin’ cutest thing you’ve ever frickin’ laid your fucked up blurry eyes on. _

Eddie’s lips turned up for a moment but he didn’t let it grow. 

Richie opened his mouth to speak, but closed it, realizing what he needed to do. “Eddie, you really don’t have to help me with this. I-”

“Yeah, I do. It’s the  _ least _ I can do, for . . . you know,  _ everything _ .”

“Eds, I-”

“C’mon, Rich. You’re literally acting like you want me to help you murder someone. It’s fine, dickhead. Are you gonna take my picture or not?”

Richie was persuaded by his persistence. Not wanting to say no to him, he answered, “‘Course I am,” with a shrug. “Just makin’ sure you’re up for my  _ amazing _ photography skills. Don’t want you to be jealous or anything.”

“ _ Please _ , you probably couldn’t take a good photo to save your life.”

And that was probably true, but, what the hell.

“So . . . What do you want me to do?” Eddie asked.

Eddie was then blindly directed to sit on one of the white rocks in the sun, Richie nervously sitting next to him. Richie turned his camera on and brought it to his face, looking through it. “What the hell are you doing? You look like you’re dead.”

“Well  _ I’m sorry _ , I’ve never been photographed before, you asshat, what am I supposed to do with my face?”

“Just, act normal. Look out across the quarry.” His expression looked stiff, strangely anxious. But, still, Richie was practically entranced. So much so, he wanted to take more. He came up with the excuse, “I need multiple because it’s a collage,” and that was that.

“You want me to lay  _ on the ground? _ I’ll get my clothes dirty!”

“No, you won’t, wuss, just do it.”

Eddie did anyway, after Richie had told him that he was too much of a pussy to do it, so, of course, he had to prove him wrong. He laid in a green patch of grass, the sun bright (not too bright to make him squint, thankfully), and Richie held the camera above him, catching just his shoulders and up in the shot. “Yeah, okay, now pretend like you’ve just walked in on Bev and Ben making out.”

Eddie let out a laugh, his nose scrunched up.

_ Click _ .

“I can’t believe that happened. He talks about her literally nonstop, you wouldn’t believe it.”

“Oh, I do,” Richie said, the camera snapping with another  _ click _ . “Close your eyes.” He watched Eddie’s throat bob as he swallowed, his eyelashes fanning over his cheeks.  _ Click _ . Richie had to take a deep breath so as to not actually implode. “Uh, maybe do something with your hands.”

“What does that  _ mean _ ?”

“Just get them in the frame somehow, I don’t know.”

So he did, turning his head to the left, eyes still closed, left hand coming up to lay next to him.

“There, you’re a natural, Eds.”

Then, they had moved to another spot, Eddie sat with his knees up to his chest against the rock again, arms locked around his calves. They had somehow started talking about their math teacher and it had turned into both of them shouting with laughter.

_ Click. Click. Click. _

Richie didn’t have the nerve to look past the camera, too focused on what the photo looked like. In real life, he wasn’t sure if he could take seeing something so . . . well, yeah, beautiful. Eddie had gotten more and more used to the camera minute by minute and he was all smiley and . . . what was Richie supposed to do? He couldn’t stop himself from falling more in love by every photo.  _ God, he’s so . . . fuck. Who wouldn’t fall for him? He’s so brave and smart and funny and he cares about  _ me _ . He does. How? Why? _

The last place they had taken photos was where Eddie stood to look off the cliff as Richie was behind him. Eddie glanced over his shoulder (which looked perfect in the shot), smiling like he was having fun. Like he wanted to see Richie’s face to see his own expression.

“Cute, cute, cute,” Richie whispered to himself, clearly not quiet enough, because he was soon after flicked off as Eddie kept staring straight forward.

Afterward, they sat on top of a wider white rock, looking off the edge together, in silence. Richie zipped up his camera case and hung it back around his shoulder. It was getting darker, but not by much. He put his jacket back on anyway out of habit. “Thank you, you know,” he said, still looking out and down into the water.

Eddie sat silent and reached up to pull slightly at his turtleneck.  _ Strangely cute _ . “Are you okay?” he asked, looking at him.

Richie’s eyes widened a bit. “Wh-yeah. Why?”

“After the treehouse. I called you on the phone, but you didn’t answer. Bev, she told me you had a panic attack.”

_ Of course, she did.  _ But, he wasn’t mad, just a little scared. “Oh . . . That, yeah. I’m fine.”

“Okay.” He scooted a bit closer to Richie to press their sides together. “I’ve had almost a thousand panic attacks by now, so, you don’t have to feel bad about it or anything.”

“Ah,” was all he could say, throat once again tight. “Well, it was my first one, I think.”

Eddie nodded. “They’re scary.”

Richie nodded back.

“My inhaler’s starting to stop working,” he told him. “So, there’s that. I’m not gonna tell my mom, though, because then she’ll probably figure out something else for me to take. A different colored pill, an inhaler with a different label, hell, she might even take me into the hospital to do . . . something, I don’t know.”

“What’re you gonna do without it?” Richie asked.

Eddie shrugged. “Tough it out, I guess. You know . . . .” He furrowed his eyebrows, looking down at his hands. “I’m almost glad that I can’t use it anymore. I know it’s fucked up, but I kind of felt left out. Like I had this cure just for me that no one else could have. It made me feel bad. It was like  _ yeah I have panic attacks. too _ , but,  _ not really though, because I have this placebo thing.  _ Also, I  _ hated _ being controlled like that. Under  _ her _ control. All the pills she gives me now, I pretend to swallow them in front of her, then spit them in the trash right after.”

“You should. They don’t do  _ shit _ ,” Richie said, his voice raised.

Eddie heartily laughed, shaking his head.

“I’m serious, Eds. You need to do something  _ big _ . Something that’ll fuckin’ make her stupid fake pills blow up right in her face.”

“I have something better. Find out what happened to my dad. She’ll be fuming.”

Richie leaned down to smack a kiss on his cheek, smiling as he said, “Don’t worry, Eddie Spaghetti, this weekend I’ll come over and I swear, we’ll do it. I promise. We’re gonna find out what happened.”

Eddie pushed him away, wiping his face off with a grimace, still looking choked up nonetheless. “‘Kay.” He sniffled and stood up. “C’mon, let’s go. I gotta get home before my mom files a missing persons report.”


	14. Interlude - None Taken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a small interlude chapter. Big things are going to come soon, so I thought putting just a short thing out to have it out while I put everything in order and get all my ducks in a row would be good. I'm really excited for you guys to read what comes next, and I promise, it'll probably be angry and sad and happy and all that good stuff. 
> 
> \- Annie

For the second time, Richie walked into photography class with a folder in his hands. This time though, he was nervous, even slightly shaking. What if she realized what his project meant and called his parents? She wouldn’t do that, would she?  _ Oh shit. What would my parents think? _

“ _ Hey _ ,” he said, voice cracking as he came up to the front of her desk, getting her attention. “So . . . I redid it,” Richie told Ms. Williams, swaying on his feet.

She smiled, nodding her head as her eyebrows shot up. She reached out for the folder expectantly.

He looked at it in his hands for a moment and felt ushered to hand it over, so he stopped thinking and just did it. “I-uh . . . I didn’t know which to pick, so I put a few in there,” he told her.

Which, was a lie. He put every last one in there because he thought they were all good. But, maybe it was because they were all  _ Eddie _ .

She opened the folder and started flipping through, eyes never changing as she looked.

Richie had to look away, hands in his jeans pockets. “Also,” he started, trying to cover up the hardest-to-bear silence he had ever endured in his life, “I did the rubric too, but it’s really vague because I think it should be open to the  _ viewer’s _ interpretation, you know.” Also, a lie. He made the rubric vague so as to not entirely spell out I’M GAY FOR THIS GUY AND I THINK HE’S BEAUTIFUL.

_ Goddamn it. _

More silence.  _ Could she say something? I don’t care if it’s ‘Wow, this is the shittiest piece of art I’ve ever seen’, or, ‘You’re disgusting,’ I don’t care. Please just say anything- _

“ _ Richie _ ,” he heard her say.

He looked at her finally, seeing her expression in awe, eyes wide, a surprised smile. “What?”

“These are . . .  _ amazing _ ,” she told him. 

“ . . .  _ What? _ ”

“The way you framed them, all the different expressions, the lighting is all . . . perfect. Much better than your quarry picture, no offense.”

Richie shook his head slowly, bewildered. “None taken. But wait, slow down a second, you’re not . . . “

“Not what?” she asked.

He shook his head again, not knowing what to say. “You think I did it right this time? Like, with the whole  _ beautiful _ thing?” He gulped.

She looked down at the photos, Richie saw the one on top, it was probably his favorite, where Eddie was lying in the grass and the photo had captured his laugh. (Yet again, he really couldn’t choose his favorite. He did, however, notice that in one picture Eddie was looking past the camera, at Richie, a soft smile on his face, so that one was great as well. It made him a little queasy, in a good way.  _ Am I a sap, or what? _ )

She looked up at him and she smiled again. “Yes, I think you did. If I’m reading it correctly, that is-”

“Yeah, we don’t need to talk about that,” he said, stopping her as he waved his hand out in front of him. He let out a nervous laugh, not even smiling as he did so. “Can you not show that to anyone maybe?”

“Of course,” she said, folding it back up. “I’m really proud of you.”

_ First time I’ve ever heard that, I think.  _ Richie smiled, eyebrows furrowed, feeling like crying. He nodded, looking down. “Cool. I’ll just,” he pointed over to his seat, “sit down now,” and spun around, blowing a breath out through his lips steadily. He was feeling . . . good? Yes, he was. Not trying to be totally insane, he maybe thought he saw meaning behind the photos. And not just the assignment’s meaning, no. Richie couldn’t help but hear Beverly’s words in his head.  _ He likes you too _ . That soft smile that Eddie had, the way he was laughing, even at Richie’s dumb jokes . . .  _ God, could Bev be right?  _ He felt his heart leap in his chest, felt the feeling in his stomach of going down a steep drop on a rollercoaster. He saw Bill sit in his seat, getting ready for class, and sat next to him, giving him an excited slap on the back.

_ “Ouch- _ ”

“How’re you doin’, Billiam? Good? Good. Me? Oh, thanks for asking, I’m having a great fucking time over here myself, actually.”

Bill gave a chuckle. “What’s got you s-so excited?” he asked.

Richie shrugged, grinning like an idiot. “Dunno. Just am,” he lied, letting a laugh out.

But, as things had always seemed to do in Richie’s life, that giddy feeling was ruined not even two hours later. He wished he had known beforehand the kind of outcome that would be born from his and only his doing. If he knew, he would’ve never  _ ever _ brought Eddie to the cliff of the quarry to do his dumb little photoshoot. How naive was he? That he didn’t check to see if anyone was watching them? With the kind of town he and his friends lived in? You’d have thought he would’ve learned his lesson by now.

But again, Richie would find out, there were many lessons he had yet to learn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;) Predictions? Thoughts? Questions?


	15. You Watching, Tozier?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh . . . sorry about this

Eighth period had ended. Richie and Eddie had left the gym locker room in a hurry, trying to sneak their way through the crowd of students so they could exit faster, sooner. Eddie had a tight grip on the sleeve of his sweatshirt. Richie had promised the boy he would help him find out what happened to his father and he planned on doing that, getting a headstart on it seemed like the obvious thing to do. There were so many students though, enough for them to get separated in the sea of people. That’s what he thought the reason was for the sudden disappearance of the weight, the slight tug on his arm, at least. He stopped in his place, excited bodies bumping past him, ready to leave the hellish place called  _ high school.  _ A place that they were forced to attend, their parents joyous to get them out of their hair whilst all the while their  _ precious  _ son or daughter was sitting in the bathroom and eating lunch alone while they cried because they felt so alone. But  _ that’s just life _ , right?  _ You’ll be fine _ .  _ Stop being such a baby _ .

Richie looked left, right, forward until he saw the boy. The crowd was already dispersing, so he stepped towards him, adjusting his glasses. He was halted in place again though, when two pairs of hands grabbed his arms with a biting grip, fingers pressing into his skin  _ hard _ . Before acknowledging that, first, Richie’s eyebrows furrowed. For an extremely short moment he thought,  _ Who’s that with Eddie? _ until the cogs in his brain started to turn, and just like that, a breath of air was released from his lungs in fear. “ _ Eds- _ ”

After letting the boy go (the boy who he had just pulled away from Richie), Henry Bowers had given Eddie an abrupt shove to his chest. He had tried to stay on his feet, throwing his arms out for balance, but Eddie was sent thumping to the glossed floor of the hallway, his lips parting in pain after smashing against his shoulder. This caused a momentary gasp of silence from everyone around them, some stopping in their place to view what was going on. 

Victor Criss and Reginald ‘Belch’ Huggins were the reason for his sudden inability to move. Richie was struggling to escape their grip, his hands clenching into fists as he tried to rip himself away from them.  _ I need to help him, I need-  _ He noticed Patrick Hockstetter, who he hadn’t even seen in the first place, his figure tall and large and looming, step over to Eddie as he tried to get up. The junior gave a swift eager kick to his ribs as he laughed, knocking him back down with a yelp. And,  _ God _ , Richie nearly burst out in laughter from pride and shock and fright as Eddie quickly brushed it off and moved to painfully stand up on his two feet, quick and agile. He had to look away, though, only hearing the smacking sound of skin against skin as Henry made contact to the small boy’s nose with his knuckles to knock him back down once again. And even after that, a slow but sure stream of thick red fluid leaving his nostril and dripping down his lips, Eddie tried to stand _ again _ .

“Hold em’, Hockstetter,” Henry mumbled as he stepped in front of Richie, whose brown eyes were held to the boy on the floor. More people had gathered around, making a tight circle around the scene. 

No one would be able to get in, or out.

Henry gave a crushing punch to Richie’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him and causing the boy to gasp for air, doubling over. However, that didn’t last long, Belch and Victor had tugged him backward, one of their hands in his hair, giving a sharp jolt to his scalp. Students were cheering, some laughing. He needed to see Eddie, if he was okay-

“Yeah, fuck him up, Bowers!”

“Fuck him up!”

Richie’s forearms and shoulders were burning from how hard he was pulling, trying to at least get a glance at Eddie to see him-

“Get him, Bowers!”

Henry took another swing, landing a blow against Richie’s jaw, and then a second, right between his lips and nose that sent his head jolting back. He let the entirety of his weight be held by the two boys, falling to his knees. “Let me the fuck  _ go _ ,” he growled, pulling and tugging and kicking. No use.

Henry wiped his forehead, frowning. “Maybe you should be more careful next time you go fagging around with your boyfriend,” he said, giving a humorless laugh as he stepped to the side. 

Eddie was there, eyes shiny as Patrick held him against the ground, gripping his arms around his back. He let out a yell as Patrick pressed his elbows closer together and shut his eyes, a tear rolling to the floor in the small puddle of blood that had gathered from his nose. 

“We saw your little fuckin’ photoshoot,” Patrick said, laughing, pushing him harder against the floor.

Richie’s heart dropped, feeling the need to vomit immediately.

“You know what I don’t fucking like?” Henry asked, kicking Richie in the side so he fell to the floor as well, glasses pressing into the side of his head as Belch and Victor kept him held down. “You  _ fucking fairies stinkin’ up my town.”  _

Eddie opened his eyes, looking at Richie. He looked back at him, speaking their unspoken conversation. It was a distraction from everything that was going on around them. He was thankful for just this single moment of clarity, to be lucky enough to look into Eddie’s eyes and just  _ be _ .  _ Funny seeing you here, Shortstack _ . He vaguely smiled. “As if you didn’t stink it up yourself,” he called to Henry, never blinking from the other’s eyes.

Henry slowly nodded, looking to Patrick. “Give ‘em to me.”

And  _ that _ made him look up, his legs scramble to be set free. “ _ No _ ,  _ no, stop-” _

It was the feeling of knowing your inevitable doom, almost like a blaring siren, a shrieking alert on television saying you have seven minutes before an asteroid is set to hit Earth and wipe out  _ everything _ . Richie couldn’t breathe as he watched Henry pull Eddie to his shaky feet, give him a smile, and punch him square in the face. The boy fell against Patrick, who dropped him to the ground. Henry got down on his knees, pulling Eddie up by his shirt to yell in his face. “Hopefully this’ll teach your kind to keep out of my  _ fucking town! _ ” Droplets of spit had landed on Eddie’s face making him gag, choke on his tears, as his head was let to knock against the floor. Eddie pushed back, trying to get Henry off of him, but he was thin, too small to do anything. “Don’t make me break your other fuckin’ arm, too, Kaspbrak,” he said, nearly choking him as he pushed him back down with his hand around his throat.

_ Too?  _

_ Oh. _

“You watching, Tozier?” Henry asked, never looking at him.

Richie saw the fear, the absolute terror on Eddie’s face and felt his own eyes quickly prick with tears. Richie shook his head as he started to babble out words. “ _ God, fuck, Bowers, it was me, he didn’t do anything, I made him let me take the fuckin’ pictures, please stop please, he didn’t do anything, please stop PLEASE-” _

But, it didn’t stop him. Henry came down, fist after fist, again and again, punching him over and over and over.

Richie was then kicked in the back and the stomach and wherever else the other three could get at, making him curl in on himself. Everything was just  _ too much _ . There were so many voices. He couldn’t pick any specific out, couldn’t decipher between the crowd around them egging the boys on, bowers and his friends shouting and yelling slurs, even between his own screams. Eddie’s screams? He didn’t know. He couldn’t tell one pain from the other, he just knew that it  _ hurt _ . It hurt to know that there was nothing he could do, nothing he could use to try and help Eddie. He didn’t care about himself. Patrick and Victor and Belch and Henry could beat him to death, right here in the school hallway, and he wouldn’t be able to care less. He just cared about  _ Eddie _ . Because this was his fault. He was the one who just had to go and ask if the boy could help him with his stupid fucking assignment that he decided to do on a whim. This was his fault. When he tried to look over to him, only to have his head thrown back in pain, he only caught a glimpse of movement and  _ red _ . His fault. What the fuck was wrong with him? What in the  _ fuck  _ was wrong with him?

“ _ Hey! _ Break it up, break it  _ up _ !”

Loud and commanding. A teacher’s voice.

“Move out of the way!”

Another.

The blows he was taking to his body slowed down and then just as fast, they stopped. It somehow hurt even worse. Now, he was allowed to stay still, to  _ feel _ and to  _ ache _ . He couldn’t bear to look at Eddie, but he did anyway, his head turning on its own. “ _ Eds _ ,” he said before he saw, his throat rough and gravely.

Eddie, somehow, was still conscious. He turned his head over to spit out a spurt of blood, grimacing, probably at the taste. 

Richie let out a sob in relief and in sorrow. “How in the fuck are you . . .”

His lip was split, there was a gash in his eyebrow, his nose was pumping out blood like his life depended on it, tears running down his face, and this little shit _still _managed to try and stand. “_Fuck you, Bowers!_” he shouted. “_FUCK you!_ _Come fucking . . .” _His eyelids fluttered as he wobbled and sat down.

Richie laughed as he cried, gasping softly for air. He was scared to say anything so he didn’t. What could he say when this was all his fault? He just waited for the teachers or officers or whoever to get them out of there, staring at Eddie, who was staring back, blood covering and dripping from his face.

-

The nurse’s office was different than Richie had thought it would be. Envisioning it, he pictured white walls covered in health posters that stated something or other about the human body and how to keep yours healthy. Cabinets lining the walls full of pills and bandages and thermometers. It would smell like mints.

None of that was true, though, to his disappointment. The nurse’s office looked bare, like an extra storage room. There was a single cabinet, a fridge next to it where the nurse had gotten the ice pack from that Richie was currently holding against his face. He had been alternating it from there, to his side, to anywhere because it all hurt. It was barely frozen when she gave it to him, though, so it didn’t do much. There was a poster like he had thought, but it was the only one hung on the wall and it was advertising the book club. The room smelled like the copper stench of the wet paper towels that sat in the trash that she had used to clean Eddie’s face, not mints.

The nurse had left the room for some reason. Richie didn’t listen as to why she was gone, too lost in his own thoughts. They both sat beside each other, silent. Every few moments he would look over to Eddie’s face to observe the multiple bandaids and the redness of the soon-to-be-bruises that covered his skin. And after all of it,  _ they _ were the ones who got detention on Monday. In what world was that fair? All because they couldn’t catch Henry and his friends. They couldn’t  _ prove _ anything. How about the hundred witnesses who stood around and watched the entire fucking thing? If you asked Richie, it was a load of bullshit.

He looked down at the tiled floor, a low hum sounding in his throat. “I should’ve realized. You don’t even have an upstairs,” Richie concluded.

Eddie waited a moment before saying, softly, weakly, “What?”

_ "I uh . . . I don't know I just fell." _

_ "You fell? From where?" _

_ "Oh-uh down my stairs. I was coming out of my room, you know to get a glass of water, and all of the lights were off so I didn't really see where I was when I stepped down the stairs." _

“When we met. You told me you broke your arm because you fell down your stairs,” he said, looking at Eddie. “Your house only has one floor.”

Eddie blinked a few times, sniffled, and then he cracked a smile. He let out a pained giggle and nodded, looking away. “I didn’t want you to know how much of a wuss I am.”

Richie laughed, wincing after, moving his limp ice pack to his stomach. He was still smiling though, breathing harshly through his nose as he said, “You’re not a wuss, Eds-”

“Don’t call me that-”

“Didn’t you see yourself out there? You kept getting up and  _ up  _ and, I thought, ‘Jesus Christ, Eddie, shouldn’t you be dead by now?’” He didn’t laugh at that, but Eddie did. They went into another silence after, Richie clenching his eyes shut. He brought his ice pack up to his face, his elbows on his knees as he pressed his head against it to lean forward. “It’s my fault-”

“No, Richie-”

“ _ It is _ ,” he stated firmly. “It  _ is _ . I should’ve never . . . I didn’t even  _ check _ ,” his voice cracked and his throat tightened, eyes welling up. “To see . . .” He let out a deep wavering breath. “If anyone was there. And I don’t know why I didn’t. I should’ve  _ checked- _ ”

“Richie,” Eddie said sadly, placing his hand on his shoulder. “They’re just a bunch of assholes who like to hurt other people and make them feel . . . I don’t know,  _ weak _ . It’s not your fault that they took it the wrong way.”

_ Here it comes _ . Richie dropped his hands dejectedly, slowly sitting up. His heartbeat sped up and he felt sick to his stomach.  _ I need to tell him. This is wrong.  _ “See, Eds, that’s the thing-” 

The door to the nurse’s office frantically opened, making both of them nearly jump out of their skin. 

“ _ Oh, Eddie-Bear! _ ”

It was Eddie’s mother, of course, bursting into the room like a bat out of hell, forgotten curlers in her thin hair bouncing. This was the first time Richie had seen her up close and in person, and as first impressions go, this was not a great one. He could abruptly  _ smell _ her all of a sudden as she jerked forward to pull Eddie painfully fast out of his seat to inspect him like he was a precious glass-blown gift that was sent to her through the mail. The scent was an overwhelming presence of perfume, but it was mixed in with her body odor. Her forehead was glistening with sweat as she shrieked and worried over Eddie. 

In an instant, her eyes shifted over to Richie. “ _ You!  _ What did you  _ do _ ?” she yelled, her finger jabbing in the air at him.

His eyes widened as he looked to Eddie who looked completely apologetic and embarrassed. Richie let out a huff of laughter. “Well, nice to meet you too, Ms. Kaspbrak,” he said happily, jaw basically dropped at how this  _ adult _ was treating him, a child who was bloodied and bruised as well.

She gave a gasp and was about to violently say something in response, but Eddie hurriedly stopped her, saying, “Mommy, I don’t feel good, let’s leave.”

Sonia breathed in through her nose, holding her composure before spitting, “I want you to stay away from my son, you hear me?  _ Stay away _ .” Then, not being careful with Eddie at all, she gripped him by the shoulder to steer him out of the room, giving Richie a cold, menacing stare. 

“Wow,” was all he could say when the door finally shut, leaving him in silence. 

What Richie had really wanted to do when they had been alone was to softly grab Eddie’s face in his hands and smooth his thumbs over his wounds and make the pain go away, but he couldn’t. And he felt ashamed for even thinking the thought in the first place. He needed to keep his hands to himself and keep his mouth shut, for Eddie’s sake and for his own. He knew what would happen if he didn't.

The door opened once more, the nurse popping her head in. “Your parents are here to pick you up.”

  
Richie furrowed his eyebrows, nodding, and then struggled to stand on his aching legs, thinking,  _ Can’t wait to see what they say. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, SO, I've got everything planned out, there should be like 6 more chapters, which seems like a lot but it really isn't in terms of the plot points that happen? (but the number could change idk) So yeah. This chapter was really tough to write, I actually got emotional which made me very confused but okay.


	16. Lean on Me

It was silent in the car for a while, Richie pressing his cheek to the cool glass of the window, his breath fogging up a circle-sized portion of it. He closed his eyes, letting his body relax, wincing every time they hit even the smallest of bumps. It as weird, both of his parents came to pick him up. Not just his father, but his mother was there as well. And she looked like herself? If not in the situation he was in at the moment, he might have felt the slightest bit happy. Still, there must’ve been a reason for it, for the sudden family reunion and the prolonged silence. Whatever it was it couldn’t be good. Were they getting a divorce? Maybe.  _ They’ll bring me home and let me down easy. ‘Sometimes people fall out of love, Richie, but that doesn’t mean we love you any less.’ _ He wondered, would he live with his mom or dad?  _ Well, with dad I’d basically be living by myself. I’d be eating microwave dinners every night and I’d have to wash my own laundry. Not that mom does that stuff either though . . . With mom I’d just have to take care of her all the time, I’d never be able to do anything. Would either way even be any different than how it is now? _ While thinking it over, Richie fell asleep, face squished against the glass, his glasses slipping down his nose.

When he awoke, Richie jerked in awareness, multiplying his pain and sending it shooting through his bones. He let out a small groan in response, biting his lip to keep quiet. His dad had pulled into their driveway and parked, his parents unbuckling their seatbelts. He did the same, wiping the drool off of the side of his face with the back of his free hand. His mom had hurriedly exited the car and came to his door, making him part his lips in confusion as he opened it. “Mom?”

“How bad does it hurt?” she asked softly.

Richie’s mouth quirked up for a moment in remembrance. It was something she used to say all the time to him when he was younger if he had fallen and bruised his knee or got a cut on his hand from playing too rough with his friends. She would take Richie in her arms and smile at him when he made a fuss.  _ “How bad does it hurt?”  _ she would ask.

_ Richie made a face and tried to squirm from her arms, his five-year-old body not strong enough. “Mama,” he whined. _

_ She grabbed his little hands, looking at the gash there on the palm of his left. She tsked and shook her head. “How much?” she repeated, giving a small smile and letting him go to sit on the floor in front of her. Maggie lifted her hand, two fingers up as she quirked an eyebrow. “This much?” _

_ Richie jutted his lip out as he adjusted to sit criss-cross, like her, their knees touching. He shook his head. _

_ “How about . . . this much?” she asked, raising six fingers up. _

_ Richie nodded, looking down to trace his pointer over the cut, eyes welling up. _

_ “You know what’ll make you feel better?” She lifted her hands from her lap, slowly reaching forward and wiggling her fingers. _

_ He looked at her for a moment, then it dawned on him as a laugh bubbled from his throat, a wide smile (four teeth missing, two in the back, one on the bottom of the front row, and one in the front on top) appearing on his face. “No, Mama,” he said, trying to scoot away. _

_ She quickly moved forward, tickling his sides and making him jolt and squeal as he leaned into her, trying to push her hands away.  _

_ “Mama!” he laughed out. _

Richie swallowed, shrugging. “I don’t know.”  _ Eight fingers _ , he thought. He slowly stood only to nearly fall over, hand braced on the side of the car.

“Here,” she offered, putting an arm around his torso. “Lean on me.”

He felt awkward, touching her again. After a year of helping her from the kitchen to her room as she stumbled, making her lay in bed before she immediately passed out, it was weird for her to almost be in his place now, finally acting as the parent in the relationship.

Inside his home, Richie was led to the kitchen table, of course, which made him even more positive he was about to get the ‘divorce talk’. What surprised him as he sat down was that he wasn’t even that bothered by it.  _ It was going to happen eventually.  _

They both sat in front of him, like they did when they told him that Maggie was pregnant. His father smiled at him oddly and took a smooth breath. Richie had half expected him to say something and it seemed like he himself did as well, his mouth partially open, but nothing came out. His mom rolled her eyes and placed a hand on her husband’s arm, making him look at her. Richie felt his heart thump. He looked at her like . . . like it was the first time he had seen her in a long time. That’s the way Richie supposed he looked at her as well, but to see it on someone else was strange. Especially when it was his own father.

“Richie,” his mother started, getting his attention. She looked worried, an underlying expression of expectancy on her face. “Did you get into a fight at school?” she asked.

Richie leaned back in his chair, immediately feeling like he was being interrogated. “Is that what this is about?” he asked, gesturing at the table, at  _ them _ . “Because, no offense, but I’ve gotten into fights before and you’ve never asked me about it,” he said, shrugging. 

“No, Honey, this isn’t about that, but we want to know what happened,” Maggie said.

His dad spoke up then, saying, “Did somebody say something to you to make you mad? Or-”

Richie felt pressure in his head as he was quickly angered, furrowing his eyebrows as he opened his mouth in awe.  _ They think I started it? Are you kidding me? After everything that happened, my own parents think I’m stupid enough to do something like that on purpose? To get  _ Eddie _ hurt like that?  _ “ _ No _ ,” he spit, cutting him off. He looked at their shocked faces, both looking as if he didn’t have a reason for his  _ attitude _ . “This is bullshit,” he said, shaking his head as he tried to stand. 

“Richie, sit down,” Maggie said. She spoke with an authoritative yet kind voice, one that made him drop down to his seat in an instant. “Just tell us what happened. We’ll believe you.”

“Who said I thought you wouldn’t believe me? I just thought that you don’t care,” he responded, looking at the wall and crossing his arms.

It was quiet for a moment, he could hear his father give a sigh and adjust in his seat like the silence was even making him uncomfortable. 

“I’m not telling you what happened,” Richie stated clearly.

“Richie-”

“ _ No _ , Mom, I- I know you want to know because you think it’ll be some great  _ thing _ and we’re bonding and we’re such a big happy family sharing our  _ feelings,  _ but we’re not. We won’t be. We . . . we  _ can’t _ ,” he said with a huff of humorless laughter. He shook his head.

“That’s what we wanted to talk to you about,” she said.

Richie looked up, eyeing the both of them. “What?” he asked incredulously. 

Maggie looked distressed, like she was in a corner and couldn’t get out. “Richie, we want to be better for you."

"What does that mean?" he asked.

Went spoke up again then, folding his hands on the table as he leaned forward a bit. “Well, for one, I’m not going to be taking as many shifts at work. We’re in a good place right now, even better than I thought, so I think it’d be good to take some time off.” He nodded to Richie, like he was confirming it was the truth.

“Hun,” Maggie said, her voice slightly wavering, causing his father to place a hand on her back, furrowing his eyebrows. “And I am going to  _ try _ ,” she told him. “I will. I promise.”

Richie was completely stunned. Stunned at their words. Stunned at the fact that his mother had to speak so few, so subtly, to tell him exactly what she was saying. His eyes were wet as he gripped the seat of his chair, clenching his fingers and releasing them over and over again, turning his knuckles white. Was he supposed to say something? If so, what was he to say?

“Okay?” his dad said softly.

He quirked his chin over to him, working his lips together. “Okay,” he whispered, swallowing.

They watched him as he stared back, the sound of Richie’s slow breathing filling the room. After thirty or so seconds after no one spoke, he stood and tortuously walked upstairs to enter his room.

-

Shutting his door and falling against it, Richie pressed his face against the wood and let out a quiet sob, his shoulders jerking upward.  _ They knew? How did they know? I thought they didn’t- They want to be better for me? _ He let out a slow whine and violently slammed his knee into the door, producing a loud thump that would probably be heard throughout the entire house. He was smiling as he pressed his chest against the door too, but he didn’t feel happy. He should’ve felt happy, right? He knew he should’ve felt it, but he couldn’t put a finger on what he was truly feeling.  _ Resentment? Relief? Heartbreak?  _ He heard himself repeating, “ _ Thank god _ ,” against the door, so that must’ve meant something. He gripped the locked door handle with one hand as his other moved to press against his face. Richie harshly breathed in and out through his lips, calming himself down. 

_ Tink _ . 

He looked over his shoulder at his window, stilling his movements as he waited for-

Another  _ tink _ , a small pebble bouncing off the glass.

Richie slowly spun and sluggishly headed over, trying not to hurt his damaged body. When he got to the window, sniffling and quickly wiping his face to get rid of his tears, he opened it, hissing from the pain in his stomach. He looked out and down, yelling, “Hey-”

A pebble flew up, trying to hit against his face, but ended up  _ tinking _ right against the glass of his spectacles. “ _ Fuck _ ,” he cursed, jumping a little.

She gasped from below, covering her mouth with her hands. “ _ Sorry! _ ” Beverly shouted to him. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, Marsh, just be glad I’ve got my glasses on or else I’d be half blind because of you.” He heard her give an apology again and ignored it, saying, “Just come up through the front door, I’m not coming down.

So, she did, after around forty-five seconds she came through his door, shutting it behind her. “Said hi to your parents on the way in,” she said, coming to sit beside him on the floor, against his bed. “They look good?” she said, questioning her own judgment.

Richie nodded as he watched her pull out a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of her jeans. She took one out to hand it to him, but he stopped her with a waving hand.

“I uh . . . I don’t anymore. Eddie kept complaining, so . . .”

She let out a chuckle and ushered it towards him. “Last one then. It’ll calm your nerves. I can tell you’ve been crying.”

He timidly reached forward and eventually snatched it from her hand, looking away. “Yeah, well I’m not telling you about it.”

“I know,” she responded.

The words made him wrinkle the space between his eyebrows, feeling like he was being stuck up for not telling her.

She was pulling out her pink lighter to light their cigarettes. “It’s fine, Richie,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You don’t have to tell me  _ everything _ . You’re allowed to have secrets. Like, I don’t want to know how much you want to fuck Eddie, you can keep that to yourself.”

Richie let out a laugh, covering his mouth as his eyes went wide. He reached over to hit her arm with the back of his hand. Richie expected himself to be irked by something like that, but since it was Bev, it didn’t seem to bother him. “ _ Shutthefuckup _ ,” he hissed.

She laughed, shrugging. “But I  _ do _ want to hear the cute stuff.” Beverly lit his cigarette, then hers, before putting the lighter away. She took a puff of smoke, blowing it out into his room (_Well, thank God I left the window open_). “ _ So _ tell me about the cute stuff,” she said excitedly, bumping their shoulders.

He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Okay, first of all, you know I couldn’t tell you about all the cute stuff because it’s  _ Eddie _ , he’s a constant cute in the equation-”

“Okay true-”

“And  _ second _ , I’m pretty sure he’s mad at me right now because I nearly got us both murdered by Bowers in the hallway.”

“No, he probably would’ve called you if he wasn’t in the hospital,” she stated.

“ _ What?”  _ he nearly yelled.

“Calm down, it’s only because of his mom. It’s not that bad, she’s just being overprotective like always. Ben told me.”

“ _ Jesus, Bev. _ ” He lifted the cigarette to his lips to breathe in the chemicals, but halfway through was stopped as he started hacking and coughing.”

“ _ Damn _ , Rich. You really have quit.” She grimaced as he hit his chest a few times. “Here, gimme that. I’ll save it for later for someone who can actually hold their smoke.” She laughed as she took it from the boy and then put it out on the bottom of her shoe. “Also, yeah, I was gonna say how dead you look when I walked in, but thought I shouldn’t feed the flames. How are you doing?”

“Doesn’t matter. Eddie’s worse.”

She frowned. “I heard about why they did it,” she said quietly.

“Ben tell you that too?”

Beverly let out a huff of a laugh, sitting up as she did. “ _ Maybe _ .”

Richie nodded, slowly stretching his long legs out in front of him and tipping his head back against the bed so he could rest his muscles. He shut his eyes for a moment, inhaling through his nose.

“You know why he did it, right?”

He tipped his head towards her, opening his eyelids and pressing his eyebrows together. “Who, Ben?”

“Eddie,” she clarified. “You know why he helped you, right?”

Richie had forgotten that the others didn’t know what they were doing together, didn’t know about Eddie’s father’s death and the secrecy behind it. He couldn’t go out and just say it, that Eddie did him a favor because he had been helping him find his dead dad’s actual cause of death. “Uh- we’re friends,” he ended up saying. “He wanted to help me out.”

Beverly smiled at him, like she knew something he didn’t, probably because she did. “Richie,” she said, nearly laughing as she tipped her chin down at him.

He immediately sat up and groaned, embarrassed. “Bev, I swear to fuck if you try and tell me he did it because he’s in love with me I’ll kill you.”

“C’mon, Rich! Just listen to me for once. Can I ask you something? And get your honest opinion?”

“I don’t know,” he said, shaking his head. “Sure?”

“When you looked at those pictures afterward, did you notice anything? Did you seriously look at those photos and not see the way he looks at you?” She looked dumbfounded as she leaned forward against her knee to stare at him.

Richie dug his fingers into his thigh. Well, of course he did. After he had given his assignment to Ms. Williams he had nearly exploded from how much joy he was feeling, his thoughts wandering on the possibility that Eddie could actually love him back. But, after Henry, after what had happened to the both of them, what was the use in trying? And even Eddie had said,  _ It’s not your fault that they took it the wrong way.  _ Eddie didn’t see it as anything more than as a school project.

_ Right? _

Eddie’s soft smile. 

_ Just a school project. _

The way he was laughing.

_ It didn’t mean anything.  _

Their constant bickering back and forth that makes them red in the face and the way Richie constantly teases Eddie and he  _ blushes _ he doesn’t laugh it off he just spits back and denies and denies and denies and they held hands at least twice and they hug over and over again and Richie can feel it he can feel it in his bones when they touch that something is there something has to be there because he just knows there has to be and he can tell Eddie knows too because of course he does and-

“You did, didn’t you?” Beverly asked with a serious tone. “It’s okay to admit that you might think he likes you back, Richie. It doesn’t mean you’re full of yourself, or you’re being dumb. If you see signs, you see signs.”

Richie looked at her slowly, trying to push back his curls which weren’t there. He finally nodded, accepting defeat.

“ _ Yes! _ ” she cried out, ecstatic. “I told you,” she hit him on the shoulder, “I freaking  _ told _ you,” she said, giving another hit with each world.

He let his head roll back on his shoulders and laughed, shutting his eyes once again. “Oh  _ shut up Marsh! _ ” he yelled pushing her away.

“You need to confess your undying love for him!” she joked, trying to poke him again.

“No I do not, and what does  _ undying love _ even mean?”

“It doesn’t matter because you have it anyway!” she excitedly laughed shaking him by the shoulder.

“ _ Ow ow _ , okay,  _ stop _ ,” he said, unable to wipe the smile from his face. “I’m  _ wounded _ here if you couldn’t remember.” He took a breath and adjusted himself before asking, “Are you positive?”

“Yes,” Beverly immediately answered. “I promise I would tell you if I thought anything otherwise.”

Richie trusted her. So, he asked, “You really think I should tell him?”

Her smile grew. “ _ Yeah _ . You two are like . . . and I’m not even joking, literally perfect for each other. I haven’t seen you happy like that, like you are with him, for years. He brings out so much love and  _ passion _ and fearlessness in you, Rich. And, to be honest, you’re never like that. It's almost like . . . like, he was made to bring out the best in you and you were made to bring out the best in him.”

“Could you get any sappier, Bev? You want me to help you write your self-help book next-”

“Beep beep, Richie.”

“Jesus, did Eds get you saying that now?”

“Yep, and it’s possibly the best thing I’ve ever had the pleasure of using.”

“Beep beep, Bev.”

“Nope. Doesn’t work like that.”

He chuckled, pressing his lips together in thought. He didn’t want to feel giddy again, like during his photography class, but he couldn’t help it. Things were beginning to fall into place. His parents had promised to be better for him and Beverly had maybe sorta convinced him a tad bit that Eddie was in love with him, so, he was in a good place. He didn’t completely trust it though, for good reason, and waited to make his decision at school on Monday, which came faster than he thought it would.

-

Richie walked into geometry class with his hands tightly gripping his backpack straps and working them under his fingertips. Eddie was already sitting in his seat, most likely because of the five-minute pass he had been given to leave class early because of his injuries. Richie had used his own to visit Stan on the other side of the school, but it didn’t matter. 

He sat down next to the other boy as the bell rang, choosing to say nothing.

Eddie hadn’t immediately seen him when he sat down, but when he finally did, he jumped and furrowed his brow in worry. (Eddie’s face made Richie’s stomach churn with dread and guilt, it was tie-dyed with dark blues and purples. He wondered how anyone could do that to Eddie, let alone do it to such an attractive face.) “ _ Richie _ ,” he chastised. He reached forward to pull Richie’s shirt up.

The boy jumped with surprise, letting out an awkward laugh. “ _ Jeezum crow, Eds _ ,” he started, voice cracking. He cleared his throat before continuing, “Tryna undress me in class? I knew you wanted a piece of this-”

Eddie gasped. “Rich, you’re fucked,” he stated.

Richie swatted Eddie’s hands away, worried someone would see them, getting an agitated look in return from the other boy. He guessed he was talking about how he, as well, was covered in bruises. Some were so huge in size Richie had grimaced in the morning when he looked at them in the mirror. “It’s fine,” he told him.

“No, it is not fine, you should put something on it, idiot.”

Richie smiled at him. He really wasn’t mad at him for getting him beat up. Richie wanted to tell him that he should be, tell him again that it was all his fault, but he knew it was no use. Eddie wouldn’t give in that easily.

In gym class, both of the boys had given Mr. Thompson their notes from the nurse, stating that they shouldn’t be participating in physical activity for a week (At this Eddie had scoffed at, “It should be two weeks,” he angrily had told the other boy, listing off reasons why and going on and on about the dangers of . . . something, Richie couldn’t remember, he was too busy smiling at him like an idiot). When they had handed their teacher these, he gave a judging look to the two, like he had heard rumors of what had happened.

The two sat against the wall, ignoring him. They brought their backpacks next to them because Mr. Thompson told them to work on homework, but they only pulled notebooks and pencils out to make it look like they were doing something.

“Well, did you get a good grade on it at least?” Eddie had abruptly asked, looking at him.

Richie’s eyes went wide. “I- . . . Um.”

“I’m serious,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I’m not mad you fucker, I want to know if you got a good grade on it or not.”

He nodded in response. “Yeah, I did. My teacher said she really liked them.”

“Wow. Richie Tozier actually doing a project of his own volition. What a strange world we live in,” he joked.

Richie laughed. “Shush, Spaghetti. You only know I got a good grade because your cute little face was plastered across all of them.”

“Beep beep,” Eddie said, annoyed, but still smiling, reaching over to steal the other’s pencil in retaliation.

“ _ Hey,  _ you little shit-” Richie lunged forward to try and grab it, his hand over Eddie’s. He was scared for a moment, thinking he would pull away because he didn’t want to be seen, like Richie himself had done earlier, but he just giggled and pulled back, tightening his grip on the pencil. And then, Eddie even put his other hand that was partially covered by his cast on top of Richie’s, trying to pry it off. 

They struggled for a while, both laughing and pressing their shoulders together until Eddie got too red in the face and gave up, grumbling in defeat.

“Nice try, Noodle-arms.”

“I guess you haven’t seen your own arms then,” Eddie quirked back.

Richie gasped, making Eddie laugh and then the tall boy broke into a smile as well. Eddie looked at him then, into his eyes which immediately made his heart stop dead.

“Richie,” he said quietly, getting his attention in which he already had, and had had it since the day they met.

“What?”

Eddie’s expression fell from his face immediately and he shook his head, looking away. “I’m getting my cast off in a few days,” he inaudibly said, reaching over to his backpack to unzip it.

Richie watched as he dug through one of the smaller pockets for a while until he pulled out a thick red marker. He looked at Richie with one of his eyebrows raised. “Don’t make fun of me,” he said, pointing at him, before uncapping the marker and setting his cast on his thigh so he could get at it with a better angle.

Richie couldn’t see what he was writing, blocked by the back of the other’s head as the marker squeaked. He waited only a few moments until Eddie turned and recapped the marker, his face red. He had replaced the ‘s’ in the word loser to a ‘v’. “Lover,” Richie said with a smirk and wagged his eyebrows a few times.

Eddie hit him with his cast as Richie started to laugh and then did his best impression of Richie. “ _ Oh, I’m a lover not a fighter, Eds. _ ”

Richie covered his smile with his hand, thinking,  _ holyshitholyshitholyshit- _ “That’s cute,” he said in a small choked voice.

“Whatever,” Eddie responded as he put the marker away, biting his lip so his own smile didn’t grow. 

_ Is this flirting? I feel like we’re flirting. I’m not crazy, right? Because he is too happy to be joking around and I’m not  _ that _ blind to notice how red in the face and shy he looks right now.  _

_ Does he know how nervous I am by how I look? _

Richie debated telling him right then and there  _ everything _ , it was on the tip of his tongue and he let out a noise in the back of his throat like he was going to talk but he choked on his words, thinking of the risk. He looked away, embarrassed at the thought and tried to steady himself. “So your mom took you to the hospital?” he asked stiffly.

Instead of responding, there was no noise or voice from the boy beside him. He waited for an answer until none came, then turned back to Eddie, confusion evident on his face. “Eds?”

"My mom," he whispered. Eddie’s eyebrows were pinched together, wrinkling the space between them. He stared at the floor, lips slightly parted. “What if . . .” He suddenly looked into Richie’s eyes, his own wide. “Rich, what if my mom has something to do with what happened?” he questioned.

Richie’s heart dropped at this, so sudden and out of nowhere he nearly choked. He immediately felt worried and scared for Eddie, who is living with this woman, a woman who apparently is terrible enough that her own son wouldn’t put murder past her. “What are you talking about?” he asked, even though he knew perfectly well what he meant.

“She never wants to talk about it,” he said. “Whenever I bring him up she doesn’t want to. She . . .” Eddie looked around, chest eagerly puffing in and out. He looked horrified. The thought was there the entire time, but it was his mother, who would think their own mother would be the cause of their father’s death? But now that it was out in the open, for both of them to judge, it didn’t seem implausible. He looked at him again, the corners of his mouth turning down. “ _ Richie _ .”

Richie gently grabbed his wrist, nodding. “I guess we’re skipping detention.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think there might be one less chapter than I thought, but who knows I'm terrible at planning, so I guess we'll find out together :I


	17. Everything I do, I do it for You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song in this chapter is (Everything I Do) I Do It For You by Bryan Adams ;)

This time, when the two boys left gym class, they headed the opposite way, towards the center of the high school. They left a space between them as they went, Eddie slowly trailing behind Richie, keeping his distance. Both of them were keeping their eyes peeled for incoming threats. It looked as if they were hiding from the government or the police in some movie. Richie kept looking over his shoulder, to make sure Eddie was still there, which also looked very cinematic in hindsight. 

After they had gotten upstairs and made it to the library, Eddie had caught up with him so they could quickly slip into the room together. It was immediately quiet, only muffled voices from the hallway could be heard. Richie had remembered how this had gone down the first time he had gotten detention, but he knew what he had to do this time to get out of it. The two of them stepped up to the desk, Richie grinning as he put his elbows down on top of it to lean on them. “ _ Hey _ , Gretta,” he said.

Gretta looked up from her painted nails that she was picking at, her face already in a stoney grimace. She made a sound from the back of her throat that was almost a growl and almost like she wanted to vomit. “ _ What  _ do you  _ want? _ ” she asked, looking back and forth between the two.

“Uh-” Richie looked to Eddie, slightly smiling in reaction and continued, “Yeah, we’re gonna have to take a rain check on this whole  _ detention _ thing.”

The notebook was open in front of her, the list of names to be checked off was right there. “Too bad,” she said, shrugging as she looked back to her nails. “You can’t.”

Richie nodded a few times, brow furrowing. “Well, I mean, if you could just cross off our names, you know, we could just leave and you wouldn’t have to worry about anything. If you don’t tell anyone, we won’t.” He clenched his teeth as he watched her give a sigh, her eyes never leaving her hand. “Okay?”

She slowly looked up at him, and then at Eddie who she gave a mocking smile to. “What’s in it for me?” she asked, sitting up straight.

Richie groaned. “C’mon, can’t you just cross our names off and then we never have to see each other again?”

“I’ll have to see you in the halls. That’s enough torture for me,” she said, leaning forward. She took a pause to think for a moment, eyes wandering the room before a smile started to grow on her face. “Do my history homework.”

Eddie spoke up from beside him, asking, “For how long?”

Richie reached up to wipe his hand down his face.  _ Jesus, we’re literally doing  _ business _ right now _ . 

“The rest of the year.”

“What the fuck? We’re not doing your homework for you,” Richie said, throwing his hands out. “That’s-”

“The next full quarter. Not the entire year,” Eddie said confidently. “And you make it so the school doesn't call my mom to tell her I got detention. Or the deal’s off.”

Richie’s jaw dropped as Eddie looked up at him like it was nothing.  _ What the fuck.  _ He looked to Gretta who actually seemed to be contemplating this.  _ What the FUCK. What is going on and where did Eddie learn that from and why is it the best thing I’ve seen all day? _ _Or wait, maybe it was the cast thing . .. Or the part where Eddie did that impression of me. Or just Eddie._

She let out a breath through her nose. “Fine. But I better have my grades up or else,” she said, uncapping that red pen of hers to check off  _ Eddie Kaspbrak _ and then move down the list to cross off  _ Richie Tozier _ .

Eddie nodded, spinning around to leave.

Richie was still standing there, mouth partially open in shock.

“You coming, Tozier?” Eddie loudly said from the door.

He nodded, turning to leave.

When they got out into the hallway, he nearly laughed and asked, “Eddie, what the hell?”

He shook his head, “I don’t know, okay? My adrenaline’s rushing right now, that just came out of nowhere. Let’s just get the fuck outta here before we miss the bus.”

-

Their friends were confused as to why they rushed off together in such a hurry towards Eddie’s house, but Richie just made up an excuse to shout before they scurried off. Eddie had told him that his mother was supposed to be at a hair appointment at this time, so they were trying to get in and get out before she came back at four.

Richie felt it too now, the adrenaline rushing through his veins as they ran. But it made him more giddy than scared, excited for this all to be over and to be normal with Eddie. When they hung out they wouldn’t have to be searching and worrying over this situation. As Richie started to think, they really hadn’t hung out alone together without any underlying thoughts of Eddie’s father. To be honest with himself, all he wanted was for Eddie to be happy. And for that to happen, they needed to find out what the truth was. He hoped this was the end of it, even if the solution might be something that would hurt Eddie. It would hurt him more if he was left wondering forever.

At the boy’s house, they headed for his mother’s room. On the way in, Richie noted that, yes, the house was only one floor and he didn’t understand how it didn’t click in his brain earlier that Eddie didn't have a set of stairs to fall down.

The scent of Sonia’s room could only be described as an old lady’s casket and Richie was only a little horrified by it.  _ How is she his mother? And why, God? Why?  _

Eddie stood next to her bedside table, opening the top drawer as he said, “Just look around for something incriminating.”

“Okay, but if I find any sex toys I’m leaving.” He heard the other grumble something in return as Richie dragged his eyes around the room. Everything was  _ pink _ . The walls, the bed’s blanket. Her pillows were covered with silk pink cases and her desk had multiple pink perfume bottles, which were all the exact same scent, same shape and same size. He walked there first, opening the drawer only to find cheap pink drugstore lipsticks and a few ugly nick-nacks. A detailed metal flask was in the corner. He ignored it and kept moving. The next thing he checked was her closet, to see if there were any boxes stored inside. But, no, all he found was a lot of ugly flowered clothing and an even more pungent old lady smell. “Where did she put all of your dad’s stuff?” he asked, looking over his shoulder.

Eddie looked to him from the bed, a box of random stuff dumped there. He shrugged. “Threw most of it out. She wanted more closet space.”

Richie frowned and stepped back, shutting the closet door. He stepped to the bed, watching Eddie rapidly going through her things. “I don’t know what I’m looking for,” he said.

_ Should I tell him now? _

“Eds. Hey, Eds. Eddie.”

He wasn’t looking up at him, set on finding something he wasn’t sure was there. “There must be something . . .”

“Eddie.” He wasn’t listening, hands moving faster. Richie eagerly grabbed them and noticed how hard they were shaking. “Eds,” he sadly said in realization.

Eddie then finally looked up at him. “Sorry- I’m sorry, I . . .” He shook his head.

“Just, um, stay calm, okay?” he said, abandoning his previous thought.

Eddie nodded, breathing in a hiccuping breath, his lips trembling. 

“Where does she keep her important stuff? You know, documents, cash, records, whatever.”

Eddie took a moment to think, looking to the ground. “Um . . . my aunt’s house. In Bangor. There’s, like, this safe in her room.” Actually, no, not at the ground, Eddie was staring at his hands which were in Richie’s.

Richie jumped at this, releasing them and embarrassing himself. “Uh- Um. We should go there.”

“How’re we gonna get to Bangor? I don’t know anyone who has a car.”

Richie contemplated this.  _ Bill’s parents? No, too many questions. Not mine, there’s no way that would work. What about- _ His eyebrows jerked up.  _ That’s it _ . “I do.”

-

“Hello?”

“ _ Hey _ , Ms. Williams. How are you?”

“How did you get my number, Richie?” she asked, her voice flat.

Richie let out a nervous laugh, looking at Eddie who stood next to him, a confused and worried look on his face. “I may or may not have called school and found out through them by pretending to be my father. Maybe.”

There was a pause, a sigh. “Okay . . . Why?”

“Remember when I got my face all busted up and I was all like  _ there isn’t anything you can do _ ? Well, there is!” he said. He wiped his hand down his face. “What I’m trying to say is, I need your help.”

“Richie, I really don’t think I’m the right person to call-”

“No, I think you are,” he said, cutting her off. He didn’t know anyone else who could help them, what was he supposed to do? “Listen, please? Okay, I wouldn’t be calling if it wasn’t an emergency. I mean, like, c’mon. You know how I am. All we need is a ride.”

Another sigh came through the phone, this time a little more pitying. “Just a ride?”

Richie nodded, starting to smile. “Yes. Just down to Bangor is all, which I think is under a thirty-minute drive.”

“What exactly is this for?” She knew something was up, he could tell, but Richie needed this.

“My friend and I need to pick something up and our parents can’t do it.”  _ One’s at work  _ presumably _ , one’s a drunk, one could literally be a murderer, and one’s dead. They’re not really in any place to help us out.  _

She took another moment to think, Richie could hear some sort of ruckus on the other end. “Okay, your address?”

Richie let out a sigh of relief, kicking Eddie softly in the ankle to let him know that he didn’t have to worry.

It only took Ms. Williams around five minutes to get there, living in such a small town and all. Eddie was quiet as he kept glancing out of the window before, checking to see if his mother had somehow gotten home earlier than she had promised. He had left a note on the fridge, letting her know that he had gone to Ben’s house to work on their english project which definitely did exist and was definitely due the next day, on Wednesday. Whenever he looked at him, Richie smiled, trying to convey that everything was okay. Eddie would roll his eyes in return or bump their shoulders together (More shoulder to upper arm, but it didn’t matter to Richie, it made it even cuter actually).

So when a blue car pulled into the drive, they headed out, Richie’s backpack on his shoulders because he couldn’t leave it at Eddie’s house for his mother to accidentally find. Ms. Williams was in the driver’s seat, looking strange to Richie because he was seeing her out of school. It was congruent to seeing your teacher at the grocery store and hiding from them because you don’t want to greet them, but this was different because Richie had basically invited her to the store to shop around together.

They hopped in the backseat, Eddie telling her the address like she was a taxi cab driver. Before leaving, the engine lowly humming, she spun around to look at them. “Okay, boys, what’s this really about?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Richie could see Eddie nervously adjust in his seat because they were just sitting there out in the open. “What d’you mean?” Richie asked obliviously, smiling like he didn’t know what she was talking about.

“What do you have to pick up?” she asked, thin eyebrows up. 

“Uh . . .” He peaked over at Eddie, who was looking back at him. They looked back at her simultaneously.  _ Think, four-eyes, think! _ Richie thought, eyes rapidly tracing the floor of the car as if the answer was in the dusty carpet.

“Okay,” she said, shaking her head. “Whatever this is? I didn’t condone it and I didn’t have anything to do with it, got it?”

They both nodded, Richie answering, “Yes, Ma’am,” with an amused smile.

She turned forward so she could back out of the driveway, checking to see if anyone was coming down the street, which they weren’t.

-

Richie could feel it. This was it. They were onto something. He knew Eddie did too. He glanced over at the boy who was staring out the window, his fingers twisting around each other as he watched the houses fly by, the sun beginning to set. Richie inched his hand closer to him, so very slow, licking his lips anxiously.  _ Now? No, she’s here.  _ He froze his hand there, swallowing tensely. He turned to the front, leaning forward a bit. He didn’t like this unnerving feeling. “Hey, could you put on the radio?” he asked.

“Sure,” his teacher answered, reaching over to flip it on. She flicked through the stations until finding something.

Richie let out a laugh, leaning towards Eddie. “Eds, you know this song?” he wondered out loud.

Eddie looked at him, nodding, a small smile on his darkly bruised face. “Yeah.”

Richie listened to the tune, starting to smile wider. He threw his arm over the small boy’s shoulders to sway them together. “ _ C’mon _ , Eddie Spaghetti! Sing with me!”

“ _ Richie _ ,” he shyly chastised, trying to pull away.

But he just pulled him closer, pressing their cheeks together as he sang, “ _ Look into your heart. You will find there’s nothin’ there to hide _ .”

Eddie laughed against him, his face hot. “You’re so embarrassing,” he mumbled.

“ _ Take me as I am. Take my life. I would give it all, I would sacrifice!” _ he sang loudly. “Eds, c’mon!” he ushered, pulling back to look at him. 

Eddie let out another loud laugh, shaking his head. This time, when the words started up again, they both sang, “ _ Don’t tell me it’s not worth fightin’ for. I can’t help it, there’s nothin’ I want more.” _

Richie heard Ms. Williams heartily laugh from the front seat, as they continued, “ _ You know it’s true. Everything I do, I do it for you!” _

Eddie covered his mouth as he giggled at Richie’s fake ugly singing voice and his terrible dance moves, the tall boy wagging his shoulders and throwing his head back to the rhythm. “Stop, you look so  _ dumb _ ,” he barely got out, covering his face. “You’re like a dad.”

Richie laughed loudly at this, falling back into his seat. “Oh my  _ god _ .” 

Ms. Williams turned up the music the rest of the way to Eddie’s aunt’s house, the two boys continuing to sing along to whatever songs came on, keeping their minds off of everything.

Eddie had told her to park down the road a bit from their actual destination, Ms. Williams not asking any questions, probably too worried to. She had turned off the radio completely so it was dead silent, except for the sound of the two boys unbuckling their seatbelts. Eddie had agreed to let Richie come with after much deliberation and was still apprehensive about it. They were going to sneak in after all and Richie was not known for being particularly quiet, and to be honest, neither was Eddie, but at least he could be somewhat stealthy. Richie was clumsy and a mess of boney limbs and terrible at sneaking around. But, he had somehow convinced him that he could be a lookout or provide some kind of help to Eddie inside.

They had quietly headed up the street a few houses, neither talking until Richie, already speaking softly as if they were already inside, said, “Where would she usually be?”

“Probably in front of the tv. She’s just a copy of my mom, Aunt Olivia,” Eddie explained.

The house was painted light blue, white trimming traveling around the building starting to peel and weather. The lights were on inside, shining out through the curtains of the windows. Richie furrowed his brows as he followed Eddie to the backyard (not to the front door like he had thought in the first place and then realized that that probably wasn’t the best idea), both of them jittery and eager to get this over with. “Eds, what’s your plan here?”

Eddie stopped in front of the back window, gripping onto the metal piece at the bottom. “It’s the guest room,” he whispered. “My mom and I always sleep in here when we come over.” He pulled it up, the window slowly sliding open without a squeak. “Neither of them know it’s broke,” he said, giving him a look. 

Richie let out a small laugh as Eddie pushed it all the way up and shifted the curtains slowly aside so he could carefully look inside. After deciding it was all clear he went forward to climb in, saying, “C’mon.”

Richie followed him inside, leaving the window slightly open for a quick escape. By what Eddie had told him prior, his aunt’s room was just beside this one, so all they had to do was go through the hallway to get there.

The room they had entered was cold and dead silent, somehow quiet while the television could be heard blaring in the other room. It was dusty, yet not, smelling of some type of expired cleaning product. Richie felt weird being in someone else’s house, especially when he wasn’t invited inside in the first place. Could he get arrested for this? He definitely could, he realized, shifting closer to Eddie as they crept to the doorway. Despite this revelation, he wasn’t scared. At least to the extent that Eddie was. Richie could tell that he was by the way he whipped his eyes around behind them in the hallway as they traveled through it and by the way his hands jittered by his sides.

They opened the door to the next bedroom, their final destination already, thankfully. Eddie led him to the closet in which he opened, and there it was. A large grey safe sat on the carpeted floor under the hanging dresses, tall enough that the bottom of the clothing touched it’s top. “Wait, you know the code, right? ‘Cause it’d be really anticlimactic if you didn’t.”

Dropping to his knees, Eddie whisper-yelled, “Of course I do, dipshit. It’s my grandma’s birthday.”

“She dead?”

“Yeah.”

“Morbid.”

Eddie shook his head, annoyed, as he started to put the correct numbers in. “Just watch the door.”

So Richie did, staring at the shut door, eyes trying to play tricks on him to make him think that the shadow of a pair of feet had appeared under the door and was set there, listening in on what was going on inside the room. But, of course, that wasn’t real, he wiped his eyes under his glasses and immediately saw nothing there. He peeked down at Eddie on the floor who had the door opened already and was staring inside. Richie couldn’t exactly see what was inside but could make out shapes of things in the dark. Some files, a few bags of unknown items, and a box. A cardboard box that the small boy reached in to grab, pulling it out slowly. He looked up to Richie, eyes wide as he reached to place the pad of his finger on top of the box, dragging it across the markered word written there.  **Eddie** .

Richie sucked in a silent gasp, knowing that it was Frank Kaspbrak’s handwriting immediately. 

A bump came from outside the door, maybe a footstep, maybe an accidental drop of the tv remote, he couldn’t tell. His eyes went under the door once again, examining the shadows. “Let’s get the fuck outta here,” Richie murmered, looking back to Eddie.

Eddie quickly set the box, which was slightly smaller than what someone would imagine as a storage box used for moving and significantly larger than a shoebox (the point was, it had something in it, it looked like it had weight to it, Richie remembered this exactly), beside him and hurried to shut and lock the safe as soundlessly as he could.

Richie pulled him to his feet, the two of them gripping each other's forearms as Eddie balanced the box in his other arm, holding it tight against his chest. They headed out together, after momentarily waiting to peak outside of the door. The television was still blaring, flashing lights coming down the hall. And, jesus, they hadn’t even noticed the bathroom light was on when they made it back to the guest room.

So, as they had gotten to the window, so close to freedom, so close to making it out without getting caught, the door slightly opened. A sudden gasp rang out, causing the two boys to spin around to look, Eddie’s leg hanging out of the window.

“Edward?”

It was no doubt Aunt Olivia, a nearly spitting image of Sonia Kaspbrak except she was slightly thinner and had dark blonde hair instead of dark brown. She was wearing an ugly robe over her baggy yet fitted pajamas and had curlers in her hair in a true Sonia-like fashion. Her eyes were wide as she gripped the tv remote in one hand, using the other to reach for the light switch to flip it on.

Before she could though, Richie heard Eddie scurry from the window behind him. He let out a nervous laugh, sputtering out, “Sorry, wrong house,” before nearly falling back through the window as Eddie tugged him out by the hood of his jacket. 

There was no looking back then as he chased Eddie out of the backyard, along the side of the house, and into the street. He couldn’t help but actually laugh, unbelieving that they had just pulled off what they did. “Oh my God, Eds, did you see her face?” he let out, covering his mouth as they got to the car. They hurriedly jumped in, slamming the doors behind them.

“Boys, what-”

“Drive!” Richie exclaimed, gripping the shoulder of her seat.

She looked wildly back at them, eyes like she had made the biggest mistake in her life. Ms. Williams followed his instructions anyway, she was already too far in to turn back now. She started the car and quickly went, providing their means of escape.

Richie’s eyes were bulging as he turned to Eddie, who’s expression was the same. He gripped the cardboard box to his chest, breathing heavily.

And, suddenly, they burst into confused stunned laughter, so hard they nearly cried. 

“Eds, Eds,  _ Eddie-” _

Eddie brought his hand to cover his face, shouting with laughter. “Trashmouth, what did we just do?”

Richie fell against Eddie, hiding his face against his shoulder, tears brimming his eyes. “_You l_ _ il’ fuckin’ robber! _ ”

“Robber!?” Ms. Williams nearly shouted from the wheel. “What did you two get me into?”

And, like the two assholes they were, they started to laugh harder, Richie nearly choking at how Ms. Williams didn’t even seem mad, she just sounded astonishingly curious. 

It seemed like a shorter ride back home than it actually was.

-

When they had pulled over to the side of the street next to Eddie’s house, the boys were still smiling, boasting over what they had done. This was it. This was what their lives had revolved around for the last four or so months and it was coming to an end. Whatever was inside this box would reveal everything, they both knew it. It was over and Richie couldn’t be more excited to start anew.

But, there was something he had to do first. 

“Thanks for the ride,” Richie said quickly, scooting out of the car to follow Eddie. He shut the door behind him, too on edge to wait for her response.

Eddie’s mother’s car was in the driveway, her silhouette in the window.

Something was off.

But, Richie needed to do it now. 

Eddie was staring at his home, looking like a deer caught in headlights. He was nowhere near smiling anymore, expression more fitting for someone who was about to throw up. He started towards the house, the sound of Ms. Williams's car driving away, before Richie gripped Eddie’s wrist, heart thumping in his chest.

_ Do it. Tell him _ .

Eddie froze, slowly turning to look at him, his eyes scared and vulnerable.

“Eds- Eddie,” he stuttered.

He didn’t respond, only waited for Richie to continue.

Richie took a deep breath, the air changed and all of the sudden freezing around them. This wasn’t the right time. But when would it be the right time? Sonia’s shadow in the window was moving to the left, towards the front door. Wrong, this was all wrong.

_ Goddamnit, just do it. _

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bro . . . the next chapter . . . I- . . . 0_0
> 
> G e t p r e p a r e d, I've got a lot of bs in store


	18. I Love You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The storm has arrived, folks.
> 
> Enjoy.
> 
> Or- Well, you probably won't.
> 
> Uh, best of luck then, I guess.
> 
> :D

“There’s this thing, right?”

Eddie stared at him, shrouded in the porch light that flicked on when they stepped onto the lawn. “What thing?” he whispered inaudibly, not entirely paying attention. His eyes were wide and his hands were shaking again, his wrist cold in Richie’s grasp. 

“I, mean . . .” Richie looked around, trying to find the wording. “There’s this  _ thing _ . Between us?” he barely said, forcing the words out so hard he sounded as if he was out of breath. “Right?”

Eddie looked back at him, confused and slightly worried.

Richie shook his head. Slowly breathing in through his nose. “I mean, I  _ know _ there is,” he told him, the air still and silent. He smiled as he continued. “I felt it.”

The other boy pressed the cardboard box closer to his chest. “Felt what, Richie?”

_ Why wasn’t he smiling? He must know what I’m talking about. Or maybe he doesn’t. But I’m sure he knows, he must have at least felt what I'm saying. In the car when we were singing together and the entire time leading up to this, we haven’t been acting like friends. It’s obvious. Either we’re really fucking clueless or just I am, but I know what I felt. And if that look in Eddie’s eyes didn’t mean anything, I don’t know anything that does.  _ “I’m gay . . . and Eddie, I’m in love with you,” he let escape from his throat, his chest tightening. “And I have been since we met . . .” He trailed off, seeing Sonia stepping out to the front porch.

She yelled out, “ _ Eddie-Bear! _ ” She sounded angry, really angry, and slightly disappointed, sad.

Eddie never looked away from him though, his eyes large and unblinking. He seemed to stop breathing for a moment. 

Richie hadn’t noticed this though, too enraptured in the moment and Eddie’s face and this feeling that he had that he leaned forward. And Eddie didn’t move, only pulled away from Richie’s grip on his wrist. He stood in his place, his eyes wavering to the side, trying to catch a glance at his mother. Richie was getting closer, could feel the heat radiating from Eddie’s face. His lips met skin earlier than he had thought it would, his heart leaping as he abruptly opened his eyes.

Richie wasn’t kissing the other, no, it wasn’t even his lips he had touched with his own. Their eyes were a mere inch apart, yes, Richie bent down to get their faces close enough. But Eddie’s fingertips had stopped him, pressed against Richie’s mouth as they stared at each other.

“I know you’re gay, Rich . . . But . . .”

Richie’s heart dropped.

Eddie continued, whispering, “I can’t . . . I don’t . . .” He slightly shook his head, hoping Richie would understand. 

And understand he did.

“ _ Eddie-Bear!” _ Sonia yelled again, her voice rough.

Eddie pulled away to spin around, leaving Richie standing there in shock.

_ But, I thought . . . _

He slowly stood up straight, terrified eyes glued to the back of Eddie’s head.

“Come inside,  _ right now!” _ his mother shouted.

Richie’s eyes pricked with tears.

He still followed him inside though, even if he felt that it wasn’t his place, still hanging on to a thread of hope that Eddie didn’t actually mean what he had said, that Richie had somehow misunderstood his words. He knew that this is what it felt to be in the midst of complete devastation, he didn’t know his throat could get so tight, his hands could get so sweaty, his heart could be so broken.

He closed the door behind him, looking at Sonia Kaspbrak storming around the kitchen, her face sweaty and her lips turned down in a grimace as she looked for something. "Your aunt called," she croaked, stopping in place.

Richie looked to his right, at Eddie standing by his side. He wasn’t  _ standing _ though, he looked quite cowardly, a force that surely could be stopped. He didn’t take a chance to look at Richie’s face either.

Sonia had spotted Richie though, her eyes boring holes into his skin as she took a large step forward, her finger jabbing in the air. “ _ And you- _ ” Something else caught her eye in the midst of speaking, she paused and looked at what Eddie had his arms wrapped around. “Give me that,” she spat. “Why do you have that? Is that why you broke into your _own_ a _ unt’s _ house? To get  _ that _ ?” She looked shocked, meanwhile, her hands were reaching for it like it was her property.

“Does it have your name on it?” Richie silently asked, still in anguish.

She looked at him, staring daggers as she stopped in place, a few feet away from them. “This is none of your business. You’re the one who got my Eddie into all this trouble. You’re _dirty _and you’re _troubled_ and I’m going to have a talk with your parents about this unacceptable behavior. You are _completely _disrespectful to me, my home, _and_ _my_ _son_.”

Richie nodded, biting his lip.  _ Probably true _ .

“You . . .” Eddie’s nostrils flared with anger, expression still scared. “It had to be you,” he told her, gritting it out through his teeth.

“What did you say?” she asked. “You’re mumbling, Honey,” she said, voice sweet yet forehead wrinkled in anger.

“It was  _ you _ . You-” he threw his casted arm out, holding the cardboard box with the other as he yelled, “ _ You killed Dad _ .”

All emotion had dropped from her face. “Eddie . . . You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“ _ No _ , Mom, I’m not. Y-y-you did something!” he shouted, eyes brimming with tears. “Those men who came to the door that day? Yeah, you didn’t think I’d notice, did you?” he asked. “Dad had a slip of paper with a number for some salon downtown, you want to explain that to me too? Something’s wrong here and we both know it. YOU FUCKING KNOW,” he practically screamed, a tear blinking from his eye.

“What . . . What is wrong with you?” she asked, shaking her head and looking to Richie. “Did you do this to him? Fill his head with all these lies?”

Richie reached to wipe his eyes, trying to rid the wetness from them.  _ It’s okay, you’re okay, this is still Eddie, it doesn’t matter, you need to help him-  _ “It’s not a lie. C’mon, Ms. Kaspbrak,” he said confidently, sniffling. “Frank wasn’t drunk that night. All three of us know that.”

Sonia quirked an eyebrow at him, like she knew something he didn’t. It made him unnerved and caused him to shift in his spot. “Your father was a drunkard, “ she said looking at Eddie. “And he died because of it. It was no one’s fault but his.”

“No he  _ wasn’t _ ,” Richie said, motioning with his hands. “I know-  _ Believe _ me, I know what a  _ drunkard _ looks like. Frank was good, he was, he promised Eddie- He- . . . Right, Eds?” He looked to the boy next to him, who was looking back. And in his eyes, he saw it.

Remorse. 

Embarrassment. 

Guilt.

“ . . .  _ Right _ , Eds?”

Another pair of tears fell from Eddie’s eyes. He slowly shook his head, looking away. “I’m sorry,” he choked out. “I’m-”

“Eds- Eddie, what- What does that mean? Wh-”

“Eddie-Bear,” Sonia said sadly. “I thought I taught you not to lie.”

Richie stared dumbly at her, completely distraught. “What are you  _ talking  _ about?” He knew, but he didn’t  _ want _ to know, he had to hear it out in the open and-

“His father was a drunk. That’s it. There’s no grand conspiracy or a hidden someone who is at fault. Except for Frank, of course,” she said. And she was sad, oddly, her eyes downcast.

“Fuck you, Mom,” Eddie said quietly. “You know I . . . You know-”

“Don’t you  _ dare _ speak to your mother that way,” she growled. “I want this boy out of our home and I want you in your room immediately. And I want that box left outside of my door,” she glanced away, turning. “I can’t even bear to look at you.” Sonia then headed to the hall and disappeared down it. A door could be heard slamming, Eddie jumping next to him.

It was silent as they both stood there, neither making a peep. Eddie silently stepped over to the kitchen counter, setting the box there and freezing his movements. “Richie-”

“You lied to me,” Richie interrupted him. He felt his face get hot with anger, his head pounding with his eager heartbeat. An image flashed through his mind, a flask in a drawer. The flask in Sonia’s drawer. It wasn’t hers. Of course.

Eddie never looked up at him, his fingers gripping the cardboard. “Listen, I-”

“You fuckin’ LIED to me, Eddie,” he yelled, jabbing his finger against his own chest. He was crying, they both were. “After everything-”

Moving so they were face to face, Eddie tried speaking. “Please, just-”

“ _ No, Eddie _ . After everything I did for you. I snuck into places, I got in trouble, I fucking  _ lied _ for you and now you lie _ to _ me? Just like that? What else is a lie, huh Eddie? Your fuckin’ placebo medicine, is that real? Or was it all just a big fake excuse to get attention-”

“Oh,  _ FUCK YOU, Richie-” _

“No, fuck you, Eddie. This is fucking BULLSHIT. I did  _ everything _ for you,” he repeated, shouting. “What am I supposed to believe? How do I know that everything you told me wasn’t just another goddamn fucking  _ lie? _ ”

“Would you let me fucking SPEAK? Or are you just gonna keep screaming at me like some fucking stranger?”

“YOU PRACTICALLY  _ ARE _ A STRANGER!” he exclaimed, letting out a laugh that was devoid of humor as he gestured at the other.

Eddie went quiet then, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth as his face was covered with more wet tracks. “Fuck off.”

“Is that really all you can say for yourself? Huh, Eddie? Eddie Spaghetti? EDS? You know why I fucking called you all that? Huh? You know why I teased you constantly and bickered and messed with you for? Because I’m IN LOVE WITH YOU, YOU-”

Eddie let out a sob, moving his hands to cover his mouth as his red eyes stared at Richie.

“ . . . You . . . fucking . . .  _ liar _ . I thought you loved me back. I really did. After all this time . . . This  _ wasted fucking time _ . . . I fell in love with someone who wasn’t even  _ real _ ,” he said, his voice sharp and stinging like venom. He didn’t care. He kept talking. “And you knew?” he asked, his voice cracking. “You knew I was gay, right? Then you must’ve known- You must’ve-”

Eddie covered his ears with his hands, sputtering out, “Shut up shut up SHUT UP-”

“Were you just leading me on this whole time then? You must’ve been. You’ve had to. Yeah, just fuck around with someone who thought they were your friend and thought that there might be a slim fucking _chance_ that his feelings were reciprocated, then just fucking shut him down like _that_. What? You embarrassed to be friends with a gay? A _fag? A_ _fucking fairy?_”

Eddie dropped his hands, his bruised face burning red. “STOP TALKING. Stop fucking talking to me like that,” he hissed, small hands turning to fists at his sides. “Beep fucking  _ beep _ , Richie. You don’t know- You DON’T KNOW-”

“I don’t know what? What it’s like to have a drunk for a parent? You could’ve fucking told me, Eddie. All you had to do was TELL ME-”

“IT’S NOT THAT EASY AND YOU KNOW IT,” he screamed, voiced crackling and breaking. He suddenly went quiet, looking ashamed as he sucked in a hiccuping gasp. “You-”

“You don’t love me,” Richie said slowly. “And you never have. And you never will. And you lied to me. You lied to my fuckin’ face for months,” he continued, voice low. “Honestly, Eds- Fuck- Honestly,  _ Eddie _ , there’s nothing else to say.”

Eddie opened his mouth to speak, looking absolutely broken and scared and overwhelmed and it still made Richie’s heart break under the circumstances. No sound emitted from his parted lips.

“If there is, then say it,” Richie said, a bit of hope in his tone. He waited, lips turning down. He couldn’t help but let out a raw broken sob. “SAY IT. Please,  _ God _ , Eds, just fucking say it,” he whimpered.

Eddie stared at him, tired distraught eyes set on Richie’s. 

He said nothing.

Richie left, slamming the front door shut, not looking back as he went down the driveway started up the street.

-

His home was silent. Too goddamn fucking silent. And he knew before he saw, he had been through it before, not even thirty minutes prior. He didn’t want to venture inside to see what kind of fucked up thing was about to happen, because he knew something was off. Everything was  _ off _ now and he was tired of it. He couldn’t think straight, could barely breathe, and he was sobbing without thinking, no pressure in his head. He was stupid. A stupid kid. To think that the  _ mafia _ was somehow involved in boring little Derry, Maine. To think that somehow his life was a movie, with happy endings and good people and unbroken promises from parents. To think that his crush,  _ a boy _ , could ever love him back. What kind of idiocy had gotten into him? Life was cold and dark and awful and there was no logical way out of it.

He knew this was true when he finally stepped into his kitchen, taking in the sight there.

He had fully expected her to be sat at the table, wine glass in hand.

But, Richie’s day had been full of surprises. So many he couldn’t count. Someone might have thought it almost naive to expect something to go in a straight line, to be a constant in a random situation from Richie Tozier’s life. Because, things were always changing. Things he thought he knew, facts he was most sure of, were revealed to be false. His friends, which he had believed with all his heart, were wrong. He himself, Richie, was not brave. Not on purpose. He was for Eddie, but never for himself, always unsure of his decisions, blurting out the first thing that came to his mind. He was growing up. Realizing the world was not this happy place he had thought it was, where everything worked out in the end and his childish dreams came true. His father was not constant, he was not home that night like he had promised he would be. No matter how loud Richie yelled, he just wasn’t home. And, Maggie Tozier was not at the table with a wine glass in her hand. She was on the floor, her face tinged blue, her wine glass shattered next to her as she lie there in a puddle of her own vomit, unable to be woken.

-

The lights were buzzing above him, a detail so minuscule that it was hardly there, he was sure he was the only one hearing it. It was annoying him to no end, he tried to busy himself with something else to keep his mind off of it. He looked across the way at his father, who was sitting with his hands clasped together, elbows on his knees as he looked to the floor.  _ Good _ . Richie had sat next to his father’s seat in the first place and when Wentworth sat beside him he had moved to the opposite side, trying to distance them as much as he could. That was almost an hour ago.

Beverly and Bill and Stanley had come to sit next to Richie and he hadn’t said anything to them either. He wouldn’t. He was too angry to.

Richie’s mind was blank. He had blocked out everything that had happened over the past two hours and it was making the pain a hell of a lot better. There was just a lot of pain though, enough to seep through the cracks of his thoughts.  _ Him sobbing as he held his mother and waited for the ambulance to arrive. Eddie’s tear-streaked face. The annoying pitying look on his friends’ faces as they entered the hospital. _

“ _ Richie _ ,” he heard Beverly usher from beside him, grabbing his arm.

He pulled it away from her like he had been burned and stood, looking to the open doors, a doctor calmly walking through. His dad had appeared next to him, causing Richie to visibly cringe and slide over an inch or two.

“Alrighty, boys, she’s gonna be fine. She did have a seizure as she was being brought in,” his eyes flicked over to Richie, who had seen the entire thing, and then moved back to Went, “because her blood sugar level had dropped low enough. Good thing though, she didn’t receive any brain damage from this. What she has is called ethyl alcohol poisoning, which in this case was caused by binge drinking. We’re gonna keep her here for a few days to make sure she-”

Richie nodded, hearing enough. He stepped away, his father and the doctor’s voices drifting off as he walked towards the exit. He stuck his hands in his pockets as he pushed through the doors and walked out into the cold air.

It was snowing.

And he found himself standing in the middle of the parking lot.

_ It really has been a year. _

His eyelids fluttered closed as he remembered. It was distant, but still there, perfectly intact in his memories. He wondered what Michelle would be like today. Her little face. Her little hands and feet. What color eyes would she have had? Brown or blue? Maybe even green.  _ Imagine that,  _ he thought, beginning to smile sadly.  _ I miss her. _ Snowflakes slowly drifted down, landing on his hot face and melting there, speckling his glasses. “I love you,” he whispered into the air, like he had done countless times for his baby sister over the year.

His small moment of peacefulness was stopped short, he could hear his name being called, sets of footsteps sounding against the pavement and coming towards him. Richie turned around, opening his brown eyes to look.

His three friends had appeared there, Beverly in front of the two boys. “You alright?” she asked, orange eyebrows furrowed.

His mindset was immediately shattered, his shoulders drooping. And he was angry again, so angry. “Yeah, Bev, I’m  _ great _ ,” he snarked.

She parted her lips in surprise. “ _ Richie-” _

“Stop. Okay?” he said with a smile, gesturing to it like he was fine. “Can you guys just fuck off so I can go home now?” Richie asked.

“Richie, we-we’re worried about you,” Bill stuttered, his breath puffing out in a small cloud. “We just want to know if you need any help.”

He gave a laugh. “ _ No _ , no, I think you’ve done enough,” he said, averting his eyes to the ground and rolling on the balls of his feet.

“What does  _ that _ mean?” he heard Stan ask, sounding offended.

It was quiet for only a moment, Beverly then sadly saying, “What happened, Richie? Did he . . .”

He looked up at her, still smiling his sarcastic smile. “He fucking shot me down, Bev, what’d you expect? Us to fucking live happily ever after?”

“Richie, I’m  _ so _ sorry-”

“Oh yeah? What does that matter? Will that magically bring Eddie back and make him forget that I’m a fag? That I’m gross because I fell in love with him?-”

“I was just trying to-”

“Probably thinks all gays are gross from what his mother’s told him,” he said. “And now he fucking hates me because I just had to go and tell him. He already knew, y’know? And he was willing to ignore it, for my sake. But, my sake’s fucked now.” Bill reached out to put a hand on his shoulder, but Richie pushed him away. “Fuck off. You all knew. Bev, you  _ told _ me to tell him. You wouldn’t  _ stop  _ rubbing it my face.  _ He likes you too, just tell him, I want you to be happy! _ Well, it was all  _ bullshit _ ,” he spit through his teeth.

“Rich,” she said sternly, a little hurt. “I was just trying to help.”

“Well, you DIDN’T,” he yelled, his hands flat as he pointed them at the three of his friends.

Stan furrowed his eyebrows, angered. “Richie, what the fuck? Why are you acting like this? We’re your  _ friends _ , okay? We didn’t sabotage your _love life_ on purpose.”

Richie took a breath, his nostrils flaring. He tapped his foot against the ground as his eyes started to well up. “Yeah,  _ my love life _ . That’s all it was, Stan. That’s it,” he said, lip quivering. “Eddie didn’t really  _ mean _ anything, right? Is that what you’re saying?  _ Oh, Richie, there’s plenty of other fish in the sea _ . Well, let me tell you something. Eddie  _ hates me _ ,” he said, voice cracking. “And I . . . I still  _ love him _ . I still do. But, no, he's just some nobody.” He brought his hands up to his face to rub at his eyes, trying to make the tears disappear, before dropping them, realizing it was useless. “And my mom’s a fucking alcoholic.”

Beverly nodded. “And we’re here. We know what you’re going through-”

“No, you FUCKING DON’T,” he shouted, letting out a quivering sob. “I don’t want your help. I don’t  _ want _ you here.”

They looked stunned, a silence washing over all four of them. Beverly nodded, looking as if she had been spit on. Bill looked sad, his eyes wide and almost drooping. Stan looked like he wanted to step forward to slap him. Richie wished he would do it too, he probably deserved it. But Bev took a step back and angrily responded, “ _ Fine _ . Come talk to us when you get over yourself then. Don’t if you haven’t, because Richie, we don’t deserve to be screamed at by you,  _ asshole _ .” 

And they left him there, standing in the parking lot alone, tears dripping down his cheeks. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So . . . heh . . . this is awkward-
> 
> And, yes, I did cry while reading over this chapter. I'm such a freaking sap.


	19. It's Group-Hug Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternatively titled, "I'm Sorry."

Around a week went by. Richie didn’t exactly remember how many days, but his mother was still in the hospital so it couldn’t have been that long. He didn’t attend school for however long, but he didn’t care too much about whether he did or not. It all didn’t really matter anymore. He hadn’t spoken to anyone since that night, hadn’t even used his vocal cords to let out one single word, a small noise even. The first night he had cried until he couldn’t anymore and that was it. He hadn’t really felt anything since then. His father hadn’t even tried to talk to him and Richie could see the pain in his eyes, the way he felt sorry. Richie didn’t care. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen before. Ignoring that, he had noticed that someone had been leaving his homework he missed at his house, on his porch, he didn’t know who. It was from all of his classes, so there wasn’t really any way to find out. Richie didn’t do any of it anyway, the first thing he did in the mornings was go outside to grab it and then second, he went to throw it in the trash in his kitchen. That was the only time he ever went into the kitchen, though, not even going in to get food. He hardly ate, sticking to the chocolate puddings in the hospital and their cups of pulpy watered down orange juice. He was getting sick of the taste, or maybe he disliked it because he really couldn’t taste anything at all.

The bruises of Richie’s stomach and sides were brown and green and gross. He could hardly look at himself in the mirror. He had only done it a few times, accidentally walking by the bathroom mirror and catching a glimpse. He imagined he would still have the same reaction if he wasn’t bruised though. He imagined what E-

No, he wouldn’t think of him. Richie didn’t allow himself to. It just hurt too bad, give him a little slack. He at least deserved to just not think for a while, to let his mind rest.

He was sat in the hospital chair next to his mother’s bed for the first time. He wasn’t waiting for her to wake up from her nap, he was waiting for this to be all over, for Maggie to come home and be a drunk again. All he wanted was to get back to normal life. Even if it was a fucked up one.

But, she did wake up. Her eyes slowly blinked a few times, her eyelashes fanning over her cheeks before they opened. She hadn’t talked to Richie either since everything that had gone down, so he didn’t expect her to speak now. Maggie immediately noticed him there, turning her head to look at him. And, out of nowhere, in surprise, she said, “You’re sitting in here.”

Richie looked away, hiding his face like he had been caught. He had been staring at his mother for the past hour and he didn’t even notice that he was doing it. It made him embarrassed.

“Richie,” she said quietly. The monitors were beeping slowly, a soft sound of a conversation in the hallway. He tried to listen in on it, ignoring her. "Richie," she repeated.

He finally gave in. Richie cleared his throat and parted his lips, afraid no sound would come out. But, it thankfully did as he said the simple word, "What?"

Maggie let out a helpless noise. "Can't you look at me?" she asked sadly. "Please?"

He pressed his lips into a thin line, breathing through his nose. Richie methodically stood up, debating on leaving and never coming back. Leaving Derry behind, maybe hitchhiking a ride to somewhere nice, somewhere devoid of his memories. Instead, he leaned down to grab his chair by the arms and move it right beside his mother's bed, facing her. He sat down, meeting her eyes with his. "This what you want?" he asked, never looking away.

She had to avert her eyes after a few moments, Richie’s gaze too intense and judging. 

“Is this what you wanted?” he asked again, breathing in through his nose harshly. “To break your promise? Mom, it hadn’t even been a week. A  _ fucking week _ . And you’re in the  _ hospital _ ,” he said, voice raised.

His mother didn’t look at him, the edges of her lips turning down and quivering.

“It’s- It’s like I mean  _ nothing  _ to you. Don’t you understand? Both of you said you would get better for  _ me _ . And big surprise, you didn't. Because it's been like this for a year and you've never tried to get better. You know, I actually kind of believed you guys? I know, totally crazy, right? But I did. It felt so . . . good. To actually think that there might be hope that I would have my parents back, to actually live a normal, happy life. But that was too much to ask. For you two to be good parents,” he was breathing heavily, trying not to yell, but unable to control it. “I am so  _ goddamn SICK  _ of my life. I get fucking bullied at school and nearly beat to  _ death _ every other week, I have to put up with every other prick who thinks they know me, my _ friends hate me now _ , the person I loved, who  _ you _ didn’t know by the way because you were too busy POISONING yourself, lied to me and FUCKING HATES ME TOO, and on top of it all, YOU AND DAD ARE THE FUCKING WORST,” he ended, gasping in a watery breath, eyes burning and leaking. It felt horrible and yet at the same time thoroughly exhilarating to be feeling something again, so much so that it scared him. He made a low wobbling noise in the back of his throat like he was going to continue, but stopped himself as his mouth turned down at the edges as his body tried to sob. He knew she would try to run, try to hide her face and hate him in silence. Just like Eddie had done and just as his friends had done. But that was the thing.

She didn’t.

Yes, she was crying, but she nodded after he was finished talking. “I know,” she said sadly. “I know we have been.” She reached up to wipe her face. 

Richie’s lips flinched after her reaction, not responding in her usual  _ Language, Richie _ , or not responding entirely. But  _ this _ was his mother. Someone who owned up to their mistakes and was strong because of it. Who was brave and beautiful and everything he missed in her.

“I know,” she softly repeated, finally moving her eyes up to look at him. “And  _ I’m sorry, Richie _ . I am  _ so _ sorry. I’ve been a terrible mother. I just-” she accidentally cut herself off with a broken sob, Richie letting one out in return. “After Michelle . . .”

His heart lurched at her name being spoken out loud by someone else. 

“I just . . . I thought everything was just . . .  _ over _ . It felt like I was dead. So I drank,” she said, giving a short shrug. “But there was so much more. So much worth fighting for. Your father, our life.  _ You _ ,” Maggie looked earnestly into his eyes. “I should’ve fought for  _ you _ ,  _ Richie. _ And I’m sorry I didn’t because I didn’t get to see how you grew into such a good person-”

He started shaking his head, saying, “ _ No- _ ”

“ _ Yes.  _ I am  _ so so so _ proud of you. Of who you’ve become. I know I’ve got something better than I could’ve ever asked for when I look at you.” She moved her hand up slowly, starting to smile as she touched his cheek.

He leaned into it, shutting his eyes. “M- . . .” He let out a choked out noise, tears starting to fall.

“Oh, come here, baby-”

Richie fell forward into his mother’s arms, sobbing into her neck. She held him tight, so tight like she used to, as she cried as well. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry-” she kept repeating into the side of his head.

His chest was heaving. “ _ Mama _ ,” he whined. “ _ M-Mom! _ ” he sobbed.  _ God _ , he missed her. He had missed her face and her hands and her arms and her smile and everything she was. And he could feel that this was her, that she was back. He heard it as she cried into his tangled hair and smelled it as he breathed in the familiar scent of  _ her _ . “Please don’t leave me,  _ please _ ,” he cried. 

“I won’t, honey, I _promise. I love you. I am so sorry. I won’t leave you ever again._ _I’m s-_”

He let out a drawn out cry, trying to make her stop talking. After everything, it hurt him. It hurt him to see that she was hating herself for what she had done. He was angry with himself for saying all of those things to her, even if he was right to do so. He was in the right. But he didn’t feel like it. Because he loved her. Was it really worth being angry if you lost everyone you love in the process?

When they had both quieted down a little she told him something. Something that he would never forget and that Richie would tell his own kid when she was old enough to understand, when she needed it the most. Not word for word, but the premise. “I’m sorry. I thought it was over. I thought I didn’t have a chance to fix us. But,  _ I do _ . Because  _ forgiveness _ , Richie. Forgiveness is the key to everything. I had forgotten what it was. It  _ mends _ bonds. Makes them stronger. I know you can’t forgive me now and I’m not telling you you have to. God knows what you had to go through because of me. But I’ll do whatever it takes to get you to trust me again. I promise. I  _ really do _ this time. I’m going to get better for you,” she said softly against his head.

“Okay,” he whispered. She was right. He needed time. For all he knew, she’d be right back here next week, apologizing again. Something though, something made him think it was different this time. Maybe he was naive, or maybe he was right. In the meantime, he knew what needed to be done. Richie pulled away from her, wiping his wet face. “I’ve gotta go,” he told her.

Maggie silently nodded. “Okay,” she whispered.

He stood up and returned his chair to its original place, sniffling. “I’ll-uh-I’ll come back tomorrow. ‘Kay?” Richie said, looking back to her for a moment.

“Okay,” she repeated before he left, the boy trying to decide exactly how he would do what he was about to do.

-

Richie zipped his jacket up as far as it would go, like he was trying to hide himself. Well, he was. He was embarrassed. He didn’t  _ want _ to say those things to his friends, or his mom, or . . .

But he couldn’t help it. Everything was happening, changing. It all had fallen apart right before his eyes. So, he was going to follow what his mother had told him. He was going to mend it back together. But, to do so, he would have to admit to what he had done. And it was the hardest thing he had ever had to do.

It started in the barrens, where he dropped his hands from his zipper to shove in his pockets as he cursed at himself for not bringing his larger jacket. He shivered as he stepped through the trees, snapping sticks that were in his way. He could hear their voices, maybe a laugh, an exclamation. The sound nearly made him want to spin around to run away.  _ Stop being such a pussy _ . It was too late to leave anyway, he had gotten close enough to them that the sound of him walking alerted the four to his presence. They were sitting next to the freezing creek, Beverly, Bill, Stanley, and Ben was even there too. It made his heart pang with jealousy. Had they replaced him? That fast?

Richie stopped a few feet away from them, his gaze wavering as they just stared. “Uh . . . Hey.” He already felt like crying, he was such an idiot. He sniffled, shaking his head a little. “So . . .” He couldn’t get the words out, nearly choking on them. Richie looked up at Beverly, who looked sad but welcoming. He breathed a slow breath out. “I know I’m a dick,” he started.

“We knew that already,” Stan said. He didn’t sound angry, rather, he sounded like he was glad Richie was back. Beverly elbowed him nonetheless.

“Yeah, well. I shouldn’t be,” he said, his voice cracking. “I didn’t mean to say all that stuff, I’m-I’m sorry.”

“Ruh-Richie,” Bill stuttered out, confused. “We’re not mad at you.” Stan started to speak up then but Bill continued, “Maybe ini-initially,” he said, glancing at Stan. “But, we understand. You’re going through a lot right now.”

Richie looked up at them, eyes widening.

“Yeah,” Bev agreed. “You may be a dickhead, but we’re still your friends. You needed to be alone. And . . .” She gnawed her bottom lip, starting to spin her ring around her finger absent-mindedly. “ _ I’m  _ sorry. I should’ve respected your boundaries. I didn’t know that that would happen with Eddie.”

Richie hadn’t heard his name since that night and it made him shrink a little, deflate. He was teary-eyed. “Thanks. I know. You were just trying to help. Even though you give shit advice,” he said with a smile.

Beverly rolled her eyes and stood, stepping forward to envelop Richie in a tight hug. And then he felt another pair of arms, and then another. “ _ I’m sorry _ ,” he whispered, a tear falling. “ _ Sorry _ . I do want your help,” he choked out.

“We know,” Stan said.

The tear rolling down his cheek, he lifted his head, looking over Bill’s shoulder. “Ben? Where are you? It’s group-hug time.”

They all laughed, Ben standing to join as well as he smiled warmly, making Richie inhale slowly and do the same. These were his friends. They would do anything for him, be anywhere to help him, anytime. He felt lucky,  _ really lucky _ .

“Yeah, guys, I’m really gay,” he suddenly said, figuring they should hear it from him.

“We know,” they all responded, echoing Stan’s previous words, making them laugh once again.

-

Richie returned home, feeling sadly happy. He was going to his house phone to call Ms. Williams, to apologize for everything that he dragged her into. She could’ve gotten fired from her job if anyone found out that she had basically helped them rob a house, let alone actually helping them  _ succeed _ in robbing a house. Richie stopped though, in his kitchen, out of the corner of his eye seeing the figure sitting on the couch, watching the black television screen. His father.

Richie’s heart dropped. He knew. He understood. This whole time. “God, I’m such a terrible son,” he whispered to himself. “Dad,” he called out, internally wincing.

Wentworth slowly turned to look over his shoulder, to look at Richie, his son, who felt an empty space in his heart that he needed to fill.

Richie paused for a moment before walking towards him, his footsteps loud and thumping in his ears. He stopped in front of him, his father’s weak eyes following his movements.

He looked old. Different. He looked empty.

Where had his father gone? How long had he looked like that?

“Hey,” Went said, his voice distant, yet  _ there _ .

“Dad,” he said again, confidence building in him because of how much heaviness he felt in his heart, something he needed gone, something that had only one way to get rid of it. “You weren’t there.”

Wentworth’s lips trembled.

He had never seen his father cry, it shattered everything he knew about him. Well, everything he had thought he had known.

“ _ And it’s because of me _ ,” he sobbed. He covered his mouth in shock. His eyes slowly shrank to half-moons before he shut them entirely, hiccuping out his cries. “ _ Dad _ .  _ I’m sorry. It wasn’t your fault-” _

Went stood, hugging Richie close to him. It was the first time Richie thought they had hugged. He was confused at how it felt. Because it felt too good. Too warm. His father wasn’t emotional, he wasn’t caring. Yet, Richie could hear him crying. “ _ It’s not your fault she’s dead _ ,” Richie continued. “ _ She was just a baby, you wouldn’t- _ ” Richie had wrapped his arms around his father, basically holding him. “Please don’t hate yourself, Dad, please . . . I was just  _ so . . . angry _ .”

Wentworth stayed quiet, but hugged his son harder, like he was too embarrassed to say anything. It reminded him of himself. He did, however, get a response in return, one so small and so utterly devastated that he wasn’t sure it was his dad at all. “ _ Thank you _ .” 

Richie was just pushing and pushing and pushing, what was his father supposed to think? That he was wanted in their family? He had pushed him out, made him feel unwelcome because he  _ wasn’t _ welcome. But, Richie was done pushing. He wanted his family back, he had always wanted his family back. But to do so, he needed to own up to the fact that he wasn’t helping put it back together. He desperately tried, he did, but never did he realize that the thing he had to do was  _ forgive _ . It was a mistake that night. The fight between his mother and father. Went didn’t want her to get hurt, obviously, it was his own daughter. He wasn’t even the entire reason why what happened had happened. Richie had never taken into account that he was hurting too, and that he himself had made it worse. 

Richie was more sorry than he had ever been. Because he loved him and he needed him back.

There was a knock at the door.

Went pulled away, slightly hiding his face.

“I’ll go get it,” Richie said, pulling away as well. He rubbed the sleeve of his jacket over his face, blinking rapidly as he hurried to the entrance of his house.

“Hey,” his dad interrupted before he got to the door.

Richie turned, hand on the knob, so he could see his father’s face.

“You want to go out to eat somewhere? Lillie’s?” he asked softly, testing the water.

_ Lillie’s  _ was Richie’s favorite. He smiled, laughing a bit as he nodded. “Yeah, Dad. I would.”

Went smiled at him.

Richie turned back to the door, opening it without a thought. He had assumed it must’ve been a salesman, or maybe it was Beverly to see what he was up to. So he opened it, still slightly smiling. Then, just as quick as it had grown, the expression had dropped from his face entirely because of how fast his stomach had fallen.

Eddie was stood there on his porch, the cardboard box in his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all- Y'ALL- NEXT CHAPTER I- ARFXJGCHKVKvgkhcjgx
> 
> . . . i'm a tad bit excited for you to read it :))))))))


	20. Eds

Eddie was disheveled, well, they both were. It made Richie wonder if he hadn’t gone to school either, if he had also been so affected he couldn’t function. Even though he was the one who lied. This thought, it didn’t even cross his mind. Instead of being angry, really angry like he should have been, he felt relief. It was Eddie standing there, in front of him. His chest ached with that relief, ached because he had missed him so much. He hadn’t noticed up until that moment that that was what the pain was. But, it was true. He had missed the fuck out of him. Love of his life, or not, he was still one of his closest friends. Closest in terms of how much they had shared with one another. If, of course, most of what Eddie had shared was true.

Eddie stood there for a moment, looking as shocked as the other, like Richie was the one who knocked on his front door out of nowhere. He wore a large puffy jacket with a hood that was rimmed with fur, the fluff rising up to push against his jaw and the back of his neck. His cheeks and nose were burning red, chest rising up and down like he had run all the way from his own home. Eddie’s bruises were brown like Richie’s, not looking gross like the other boy's however, looking normal and faded and almost cute like everything looked on Eddie. He had the cardboard box in a death grip in his arms (his cast was gone, strangely making Richie feel a sad pang in his heart), whatever inside of it sturdy enough as to not let the boy completely crush it. He gasped slightly, like he was dragging air back into his lungs so he could speak. “Hi,” Eddie squeaked, eyes searching for something in Richie, while he ignored the fact that they had basically broken up and were on non-speaking terms until the end of forever. Eddie never really followed what just  _ happened _ though, he did what he wanted when he wanted to, carving his own path to do what he thought he should.

“Hi,” Richie awkwardly responded, his limbs frozen and unable to move. He took in Eddie’s appearance once more, like he had only just opened the door and realized he was there again. It made his heart drop a second time, because  _ oh fuck Eddie’s here. Why is Eddie here? Why does he have that box? Do I look as scared as he does?, because fuck he looks scared. Why can’t I say anything? Say something, Four-Eyes! You’re standing there in silence! What are you doing? _

“Hi,” Eddie repeated once more after the ten-second silence, slightly shaking his head like he didn’t mean to say it. He loosened his grip on the box, eyes flicking down to see it. "Um . . . Since you went through all the trouble . . . Do you . . .” He wasn’t looking at Richie, merely leaving his eyes dangling to the ground. He looked lost, like he wasn’t the one saying the words. “Want to see what’s inside?” Eddie said this as if he was asking himself the question, wondering if he should be doing this.

Richie looked over to his father, who stood by the couch, his eyebrows furrowed. Richie gestured for him to wait before he followed Eddie outside, the tall boy shutting the door behind them. He could hear himself breathing, could Eddie? He was shaking, as if the other was a stranger who he didn’t trust. Richie sat down on the step anyway, refusing to look away from his hands in his lap for a few moments.

Eddie’s own hands were shaking, Richie could see his fingers trembling as he tried to peel off the tape that had sealed the cardboard shut. His teeth were digging into his bottom lip, like he was trying not to cry. Richie let his eyes linger on his face as the wind blew, shifting the boy’s soft hair slightly. 

_ ("Oh my  _ fuck _ ," Richie said to himself before catching up with the tiny creature, walking beside him. "Need help with any-a that, shortstack?" He didn't mean to say the 'shortstack' part, but as usual, his mouth had a mind of its own. _

_ He looked up at Richie, nearly dropping his things in surprise and maybe a bit because of fright. This close, he could see his short perfectly styled dark brown hair, parted to the left of his head. His soft brown eyes were wide and shiny under the bright lights in the hallway. He had freckles, like Richie, but a few less and (to Richie at least) scattered beautifully and not clumsily around his face. His skin had a flush of pink, most likely from the scolding he received from the teacher in the hallway, and his darker pink lips were parted just a crack. _

_ Richie gulped.) _

Richie continued to watch Eddie scramble with the box and angrily shift it in his hands. He was trembling too hard to focus and it was obviously making him frustrated. He wanted to let a laugh out, tease him for it to make the other yell at him and shove him, maybe call him a name.

_ (For a moment Richie could only watch Eddie, all sounds going quiet as he stared at the boy, vision only focusing on him and nothing else. _

_ "Why're you staring at me?" Eddie said uneasily, annoyed.  _

_ In the blink of an eye Richie broke himself out of it and said, "You know, you really are a little shithead Eddie Spaghetti." He let out a laugh, crossing his arms as well. _

_ "Don't call me Eddie Spaghetti," he grumbled, turning forward in his seat. His face had grown even more crimson than before. He was wearing a  _ fanny pack _ . A small black one that sat against his side. Richie saw that he had ankle socks that had three stripes, red blue red. He kept repeating that in his head for no reason,  _ red blue red, red blue red, red- _ And  _ short _ red shorts topped with a salmon polo shirt (that looked like it was taken straight from the boy's section in Kohl's). _

_ “What’s in there?” Richie asked, prodding at the fanny pack around his tiny waist. “Rock collection?” _

_ “ _ Hey, _ ” Eddie warned, slapping his hand away. “None of your business,” he said defensively.) _

God, Richie couldn’t help remembering it all. That first day. It made him sick to his stomach, but it also still gave him butterflies. He  _ knew _ Eddie, didn’t he? Of course he did.

_ (“Oh,  _ FUCK YOU, _ Richie-” _

_ “No, fuck you, Eddie. This is fucking BULLSHIT. I did  _ everything _ for you,” he shouted. “What am I supposed to believe? How do I know that everything you told me wasn’t just another goddamn fucking _ lie _ ?” _

_ “Would you let me fucking SPEAK? Or are you just gonna keep screaming at me like some fucking stranger?” _

_ “YOU PRACTICALLY ARE A STRANGER!” he exclaimed, letting out a laugh that was devoid of humor as he gestured at the other.) _

Richie nearly let out a noise of displeasure, thinking of their fight again. What was he thinking? If he loved Eddie then why did he treat him like that? Even if he  _ was _ angry, he shouldn’t have done it. Even if Eddie did lie. That wasn’t who Richie wanted to be, it wasn’t what he wanted people to see him as. And if Eddie isn’t gay then Richie should respect that, not yell at him for it. Even if it shattered his heart to know. 

He reached over, gesturing for him to hand the box over. Eddie looked at him in surprise, his breathing coming in and out in small puffs between his lips. He nodded, slowly handing the box over to Richie, giving a small emotionless smile as a thanks.

_ ("I have to go upstairs," Eddie said abruptly, looking up at him. _

_ "Oh," Richie said, hoping he didn't sound as disappointed as he was. Just walking with this total stranger had made his day ten times better. He could already feel his chest swell with the feeling that time was running out to tell him something,  _ anything _ . He didn't want to wait until the next day to see him again. They were getting closer to the stairs and he looked down at him. There was something familiar in Eddie's eyes. _

_ "Bye," is all Eddie said, a look of  _ you're an idiot _ on his face. _

_ Richie didn't know how he recognized that, but he let out a loud laugh in reaction. And then, finally, for the first time, Richie got to see Eddie smile. Small, but utterly . . . _

_ Beautiful.) _

Richie sighed, shaking away his thoughts before his eyes started to water. It was best not to let his mind wander. Wander to where it all started, when he had first met the other. He wondered what that Richie would think of, knowing everything that was going to happen to him. Would he ever make friends with Eddie in the first place? Or would he push him away, not wanting to experience all of the pain he was about to endure? Carefully peeling the tape away from the box on his lap, Richie was sure he wouldn’t have changed things. If he had never met Eddie, he wouldn’t  _ have _ Eddie. He wouldn’t know him, how wonderful he was. Richie had a feeling that after Eddie left, after they had found out what was inside the box, they would never see each other again. What else was there? After everything that happened, he knew they probably couldn’t go on.

The first thing he saw when he opened the flaps of the box, was a piece of paper that was folded three times. There was black ink slightly bleeding through to the backside. Eddie slightly scooched over (not enough for their thighs or shoulders to bump, of course) and reached inside, taking the letter. He took a while to open it, acting like he was adjusting in his place, or looking into the box to see what else was inside (although, the only thing that was left was something wrapped in newspaper, something big enough to fill the entire thing). But, Richie knew he was just putting off opening it. He was frightened. Who wouldn’t be?

When he finally did open it, Richie looked away almost immediately. He didn’t want to look over his shoulder and read what was written, those words were probably written for Eddie and Eddie only. He did wonder why it was written though, why Frank had left a note in the first place. 

He averted his attention to the snow that had just started to fall down, small unimportant flakes drifting in the air. He held the box with a soft grip, feeling like he wasn’t allowed to touch it. Why had Eddie even come over in the first place? Yes, Richie had helped him find whatever it was they had found, but it had no connection to him whatsoever after that. He didn’t understand, not looking into it any further as he crossed his eyes, watching the tiny snowflakes melt on his glasses. Out of the corner of his eye, again, he could see Eddie moving, slightly jolting.

_ Oh _ , Richie thought, realizing he was sobbing, trying to quiet himself so the lanky boy didn’t realize. But, he did, and it made Richie look back at his profile in an instant. Eddie was trailing his finger along the lines, like he kept getting lost in them. Tears were dripping from his jaw, landing against his jacket to soak there. His eyes were moving fast, rapidly along the sentences as he started to smile. He let out a sob as he dropped the expression immediately afterward, one that was loud and guttural. Richie slowly crept his hand around, like he was going to pat his back, but stopped himself, thinking it may be perceived as something else. 

When he was done reading, he was an utter mess. He didn’t look at Richie, he just started to stare forward, letting his hands (which were gripping the letter) fall to his lap. Eddie looked like he was trying to figure out something, almost as if he was putting the pieces of a puzzle together, his eyebrows scrunched on his face. His breathing was ragged, uneven. He was slightly wheezing, trying to get it under control but unable to because of how hard he was crying.

It scared Richie a little, frantically racking his brain for what he should do. “I- Do- Do you need your inhaler? Did you bring it?” he asked.

Eddie shook his head, before freezing in place.

He turned toward Richie, something familiar, something recognizable to  _ him _ . His expression didn’t change, but something did. There was something that Richie had seen before, something he had felt. What was it?  _ Why do I know- _

_ (Eddie had dropped his backpack to the ground and thudded down in his seat before the boy could even explain the cause of his wounds, and eagerly grabbed his face to bring it close to his. _

_ “  _ Ow- _ ” _

_ “What  _ happened? _ Are those cuts? Did you fall? Did someone do this? Did you go to the doctor-” His eyes were frantically traveling his features-) _

Why was this the same?

_ (“That’s it?” Eddie asked softly, looking up at him, brown eyes against brown. _

Wait, why are we so close right now? _ “Mhm,” he sounded, breathing in through his nose. The room was too quiet, not even a clock to pass the time by ticking. They were staring at each other for way too long, Richie’s heart beating in his ears way too fast, _ thump thump thumpthumpthump- _ Eddie’s eyelids were too low and his long eyebrows were screwed together too tight and he could suddenly feel hot breath against his lips- _

_ Richie pulled away, clearing his throat and sticking his hands in his lap. His face was burning. So was Eddie’s-) _

Richie furrowed his eyebrows as he stared at the boy, confused, scared, unsure. 

_ (Richie let his hands drop and fell into Eddie’s arms, leaning over and burying his face in his neck. He trembled hard for a few moments before it finally came flooding out of him, sobs racking his body. Eddie nearly toppled over but grounded them by wrapping his arms around Richie and gripping onto the grey shoulders of his jacket. _

_ And,  _ wow _ , this felt so much different than his mother’s arms around him. Hers were almost clammy and unrecognizable, but Eddie’s . . . they were delicate yet sturdy and sure. He practically melted into them and at that moment he wasn’t afraid of just letting everything go, so he did. _

_ There was something about all of it that was on the tip of his tongue, yet he couldn’t figure it out. Maybe he didn’t want to. _

_ “ _ Eds _ , _ ” _ he cried between sobs. _

_ Eddie held him tighter and turned so he could pull both of them down to sit on the end of his bed. His right hand was up in Richie’s shorter hair to pet it and gently rub at his scalp. _

_ Richie could smell Eddie in all his lemon-scented glory and after a few minutes his breathing steadied out from it. His head was pounding, face wet from his tears. He gave one last hiccup of a sob at the thought of Eddie being so sweet-) _

Eddie’s presence felt like this, this moment felt like these moments.

_ (Richie let out a barking laugh, honestly feeling good to have a smile stretch across his face. He finally absentmindedly looked at him then, at Eddie’s worried smile prettily showcased. He felt something twitch in his hand, so looked down to see- _

He’s holding my hand. Eddie’s holding my fucking hand-)

They were all flashing through his mind, the memories, all of them, they were all leading up to this. 

_ (Richie reached up to grab his partially visible hand like Eddie had done for him earlier. He watched as he wiped his face with his other hand, his features not discernible enough in the dark to tell if he was crying or not. Richie thought he was. “Jesus,” he mumbled. “We’re so fucked up.” _

_ He heard Eddie giggle, sniffling a little. “It’s not so bad. With . . . you know . . .” _

_ Richie felt his heart swell and squeezed the other’s fingertips. “Someone else?”  _

_ Eddie didn’t answer, maybe because if he said yes it would have certain connotations. Richie desperately wanted him to say anything at all, but settled with the barely-there squeeze his own fingers received in return-) _

This moment. What was this moment? What was about to happen? Something was, Richie knew it. He felt it. Something that would change his life forever, something that he would always remember, always be able to recount the small details of.

_ (Not trying to be totally insane, he maybe thought he saw meaning behind the photos. And not just the assignment’s meaning, no. Richie couldn’t help but hear Beverly’s words in his head.  _ He likes you too . _ That soft smile that Eddie had, the way he was laughing, even at Richie’s dumb jokes _ . . . God, could Bev be right?)

And then Eddie grabbed Richie’s face and kissed him right on the mouth.

_ Eddie’s kissing me. _

_ I’m being kissed by Eddie. _

_ Eddie fucking Kaspbrak is fucking kissing me right the fuck now _ .

Eddie pulled back almost straight away, staring back at him, wet eyes wide, before Richie let out a sob and moved forward again. Eddie let him. They were kissing. And crying. And kissing some more. 

They broke away, Richie saying, “ _ Eds _ ,” as he choked on his cries. He was so  _ sick _ of crying, but this couldn’t be stopped, he was sobbing so hard he could pass out, his head thumping.

Not that Eddie was crying any less though, his eyes were permanently clamped shut as he fell against the other, wrapping his arms around his shoulders to hug him and let out a string of nonsense that Richie understood perfectly and could probably repeat word-for-word thirty years later.

“ _ Richie I’m sorry, I’m so sorry I lied- Please don’t hate me, please- I believed him. He told me he’d stop drinking and I BELIEVED him. I loved him, Rich, and he’s gone, gone forever, and my medicine’s a placebo and my mom’s fucking insane and I fucking LOVE YOU. I didn’t mean what I said- I mean, what could I say- She was right there- And with Henry and Patrick and- I was scared, so scared because of what they did. And when you told me how you feel I was scared because I don’t want us to get hurt, I don’t want YOU to get hurt because of me, but I love you, Richie, I love you, I love you, I love you- And I have to do something about it because there’s nothing else to do, I want to be with you no matter what, even if there’s people like Bowers out there, because it means I can be with you- _ ”

Richie pulled back to kiss him again,  _ hard _ , stopping him from talking, trying to kiss the pain away. “I love you too,” he said against his lips, their faces hot and covered in tears. And Richie  _ got it _ , he did. Eddie believed his father, just like Richie had believed his parents the first time they had said they would get better for him. And with Derry how it was, there were people who would love to stop  _ them _ . Richie and Eddie. Together. People like them had been killed. Richie understood more than anyone ever could and he  _ loved _ Eddie for it. He loved the bad things, he loved the good, he loved how fucking sappy they were, and he loved  _ them _ . 

Beverly was right. Richie could hardly believe it. But it was  _ real _ .  _ Eddie _ was. 

_ They were real. _

He hugged him again, both of them trembling. Richie closed his eyes, pressing his face into Eddie’s hair as he pressed his lips there a few times. “This is fucking crazy.”

“I know,” Eddie responded softly.

“Fuck.”

  
_ “Fuck _ .”


	21. Interlude - Move On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I n t e r l u d e time, boys

_ Eddie, _

_ I know you’re mad at me right now. Or maybe your not, if you never get to read this letter. I hope you do anyway, because I need to tell you everything and I don’t think I would be able to tell it to you in person. But this letter is for just in case. Just in case something happens to me and I don’t get the courage to say it. In the past I haven’t, so what would be different in the future? I should’ve been there for you more, I should be doing everything I can to be the father you need. And there’s nothing to excuse me from hurting you, there are only apologies and they don’t do much. _

_ So, this isn’t an apology. This is a promise, it’s a statement, it’s the truth. Because my time’s running out. I can feel it, I just know. And if it has, you’re reading this right now. This is what I want you to know: _

_ First of all, I love you. Please don’t ever forget it. No matter what your mother says, or whatever you think, I love you, Eddie. Getting to see you grow up has given me so much pride, more than I had ever had in my entire life. Because, kid, you're the smartest and bravest person I’ve ever met. No matter what happens you just keep going, I don’t even know how you do it. All I know is that you are a force that can’t be stopped. And you are strong, so strong. So I’m going to have to ask you something I know you can do, but it's going to be hard. You’re not going to like it, but I need you to do it.  _

_ Move on. I want you to move on, Eddie. Without me. And no matter what, no matter how difficult things seem to be, always remember that I love you. From wherever I am, I love you. I’ll be with you every step of the way. _

_ And, listen, please just love who you love. I know, how do I know that, right? It’s because I’m your father, I just do. I know you're scared. It’s a scary place out there. But, what’s the point in tackling it if you can’t truly share it with someone else in the end? It doesn’t matter what other people think, what matters is that you’re truly happy. And you won’t be happy with someone if you pretend to love them. Trust me, I know. _

_ If you meet someone, someone who makes you feel like you’re you, like you can do anything, don’t let them go. Keep them close. Take a chance. Love them, Eddie. You don’t have to be scared, because it’s just love. It’s the best thing that can ever happen to you, and if you don’t take a chance you'll miss it. You might not have the opportunity again. _

_ So, that's it. I guess this is also a goodbye. But not forever, I promise. I’m sure we’ll see each other again. Somewhere. _

_ Love, Dad. _

-

On Monday, before first period, Richie headed to his photography class for the first time in over a week. He was nervous, but he thought that it was fine that he was. He gripped his backpack straps, heavy on his shoulders after not carrying it for so long. He silently crept inside the classroom, shutting the door with a soft click afterward.

Ms. Williams looked up from her desk at the quiet noise, an expression of relief flooding her face immediately after she realized who it was. “ _ Oh, Richie, _ ” she said, standing up. She rushed to meet him in the middle of the room. And she hugged him.

And Richie, he hugged her back.  _ I kind of missed her,  _ he thought. When they pulled away she grabbed his shoulders, smiling sadly. “Are you okay? I heard what happened.”

He almost explained to her the aftermath of what happened with Eddie, but then realized that that wasn’t what she was talking about. “Oh,” he said in realization, to himself. “She’s doing better. She’s back home now, so.” He nodded assuringly. “Um, yeah, so . . .” He looked to the ground, furrowing his eyebrows. Looking back up at her, he started, “I came to apologize. I shouldn’t have called you to give us a ride that night and then just run off like that. It was really . . .  _ irresponsible  _ to drag you into our mess. So, sorry.”

She quirked an eyebrow, letting her hands drop. “Did your parents force you to come here and say that?” she asked, because this was very un-Richie-like.

He gave a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, no. Sorry I was being such a di- . . . a  _ rude _ . . . a  _ really terrible . . .  _ ” He clenched his eyes shut and threw out his hands. “A dick, okay? Sorry, I know,  _ watch your language _ , but I was being a dick.”

She rolled her eyes. “Okay, I got it. Thank you,” she said earnestly, giving a nod. “Oh, and before I forget, did you get your homework?”

He made a face of surprise. “Wait, you were the one who was dropping my homework off?” He winced. “I might’ve, um, thrown it all away?”

She gaped. “Richie.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay, sorry, I just . . .” He was flustered, slightly shaking his head. “I couldn’t,” he decided on, hoping she would understand.

She sighed. “Okay,” Ms. Williams responded. She paused, thinking over her next words. “Hey, so Eddie? That’s his name?” she carefully started.

He looked at her, a smile starting to grow on his face, and then on hers. “Yes, that’s his name,” Richie answered.

She nodded once more, letting out a small huff of laughter. “Alright, you should get to class before the bell rings.”

He smiled, fully this time, saying, “Who said I wasn’t planning to? Have you met me? ‘Course I will.”

She sighed. “Go.”

-

_ Money, stacks of money were under the folded newspapers. So much they couldn’t count. “Holy shit, Eds,” Richie cursed. “What the fuck.” _

_ Eddie’s eyes were widened as they stared inside. “Remember when I told you my dad took out all of that money before he died?” _

_ Richie nodded. “I forgot.” _

_ “Me too.” _

_ “What are you going to do with it?” _

_ “I have no fucking clue.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright. Next chapter is the 'final' chapter. But, I'm going to put another chapter out after it as a little add-on.
> 
> So. Yeah.


	22. I Need You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I present to you . . . the 'end'.
> 
> :)))))))))))

Summer.

It was hot outside, the sun beating down hard but thankfully being covered by a few large clouds. Kids were running up and down the street, riding their bikes and getting scraped up, as they do. A sound of the blaring ice cream truck could be heard in the distance, playing its ugly little tune as children waved it down, crumpled dollar bills in their sweaty clenched fists. Couples were walking hand in hand, maybe showing a little too much PDA. And in the midst of all of this, Richie Tozier, who had been awake hours before his entire neighborhood, was completely freaking out over a picnic lunch he had set up by himself and invited everyone he cared about to. Why he did this? He no longer had a good reason, to be honest, he did it on a whim. 

Richie thudded down the stairs, adjusting his glasses on his face as he loudly said, “Mom, you have the salad finished, right?” He reached the bottom, coming to stand outside of the kitchen.

She turned around from the counter, her hair falling below her shoulder blades in smooth pretty waves. Wearing an amused smile, she answered, “ _ Yes _ , Richie. Just like I told you thirty minutes ago, the salad and sandwiches and everything else is done. I just need to finish chopping up this fruit, okay?”

A laugh came from behind Richie, causing him to spin around to look. Beverly and Ben were sat there, Bev’s eyebrows raised. “Don’t worry about your son, Maggie, he’s just nervous for  _ you-know-who _ to show up.”

Richie huffed a breath out through his nostrils, taking a few big steps to the couch to shove her, only to be shoved back, and then so on and so forth.

“ _ Hey, _ ” Maggie called from the kitchen. “No rough-housing, you two.”

“Sorry, Mom,” Beverly responded with a laugh. 

“Yeah, she probably sees it enough with the two of them-”

“Bev, you’re rubbing off on your boyfriend,” Richie cut Ben off, shutting his eyes and taking a deep breath as the two of them laughed. He then went to the front door, leaving his friends before they got up to ask his mother if she needed any help in the kitchen. He exited his house, tumbling anxiously down more steps to arrive at the open garage to see his father, who was receiving help from Mike, pulling out folded chairs to set by the multiple picnic tables that were up in their backyard. “You guys need help?” he called.

“I think we got it,” his father responded.

Mike gave him a warm smile and a roll of his eyes, probably seeing how the boy was dressed. 

He wanted to look nice, okay? Sue him. He had a brand new pair of white shoes and socks (which would no doubt be ruined by the end of the day, but he didn’t care he just needed them for a few hours), a pair of shorts that were, surprisingly, clean, and a fresh smelling t-shirt that was under one of his Hawaiian shirts, which some ( _ Okay, everyone) _ hated, but he liked to make people annoyed, so it was alright. All in all, he was nervous, so he made sure he at least looked good. If that meant brushing down his curls that had just grown back in, then so be it.

He had then rushed to the backyard, the wind pushing a warm breeze through his fingertips as he went. He mentally checked off everything in his head, wondering why he had thought this was such a good idea in the first place and feeling a bit dumb because of it.  _ Okay, the food, the tables and chairs, Me, Beverly, Ben, Mike, Mom, Dad- _ “Bill!” he exclaimed, running into the other boy who had stepped out of the back door.

“ _ Juh-Jesus, Rich _ ,” he said, eyes growing. “You scared me,” Bill continued, covering his heart with his hand, a set of paper plates in the other, his brother George by his side.

“Hey have you- Sorry- Have you seen Stan? He was supposed to bring that weird Jewish food his parents make.”

“I don’t think so,” he said, giving a laugh. “Also, why do you look like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like . . . clean?”

Richie squinted his eyes at him. “Thanks, Billiam. Very nice.”

Okay, maybe there was  _ one _ other reason he wanted to look nice. Maybe it was the real reason for him being so nervous, but he couldn’t tell. 

He continued his way past Bill and back into his home, thankfully seeing Stan walking inside, a pot in his hands, and wondered how he could be so blind as to not see his parent’s car pulling up and dropping him off. He shook his head, trying to rid the hazy anxiousness that was clouding his mind. 

Everyone was supposed to arrive around half an hour from then, but Richie’s friends had offered to help set everything up and had also said that they could bring some type of food along, which did help out a lot because Richie had no idea what he was doing. His mom though, she was basically having the picnic, it was just her son’s dumb idea to do it. 

He realized, a half an hour later, that the only person other than his friends that he had invited was his teacher, Ms. Williams (He had told her she could bring whoever she wanted with, her boyfriend or husband or something). She had told the boy that he could call her by her first name. Which was slightly weird to Richie, thinking that he had never met any adult like her in Derry, which was kind of a good-weird. Because they were friends. (Never had Richie thought he would even be close to liking a teacher, let alone befriend them, most of them were put-off by Richie immediately). It was nice, to have someone like that.

Her name was  _ Carly _ , by the way.

So, when he heard a knock at the door, he knew it was her. He stood up from his place that he was sitting on the couch, where his foot had been incessantly tapping while Stan and Mike sat beside him and conversed, Richie’s parents following close behind him to greet her. He opened the door, immediately seeing her smiling face. And, next to her there was someone else, a woman with blonde hair and a long smile, tall and thin. “Hey,” Ms. Williams said, and Richie could tell she was a little nervous as well.

_ Why? _

The two women stepped inside, the door shutting behind them. His parents introduced themselves, shaking their hands. And then Richie’s teacher turned to him. “Hey, Richie,” she said warmly. “Um, well . . .” She gave a glance to the blonde-haired woman, who everyone was staring at, Richie’s parents and his friends and Richie included. “This is-This is my wife, Irene.”

And Richie’s eyes nearly strained from how hard they bulged. He looked back and forth between the two, starting to smile. "Really?” he said, voice lowered.

She nodded, giving a small laugh at his reaction.

“Hi,” Irene said, reaching out with her hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Richie shook her hand, nodding. “It’s nice to meet you too. I’m the one who she’s probably always complaining about when she gets home.”

Irene laughed, a happily smooth noise that he smiled at. “Oh, yes, I’ve heard of you.”

Richie felt . . .  _ excited.  _ He had no idea.  _ She's like me? This whole time? She knew, didn't she? How?  _ Well, he had sure gotten lucky with those pictures in photography. Anyone else might’ve taken those pictures the right way and immediately called his parents or worse. But, Ms. Williams wasn’t just anyone else. She was like him. She knew what it was like to be someone like him, to be  _ different _ than what everyone thought was the usual. It made him feel like he was okay, that he  _ was _ normal. Because, you know what, he was. And to know that there were more than two ‘different’ people in Derry, Maine was eye-opening. It was relieving. And knowing that there were so many people here with him that accepted him and made him feel like he could do anything, his family, his friends, his teacher, it was the best feeling in the world.

But, there was one more person.

Everyone had gone into the backyard to sit down at a table, people he knew conversing and laughing and getting to know each other a little better. Richie didn’t take a seat though, he stood inside the house, continuously changing between looking out of the window to looking at the door as he tried to keep his hands still by shoving them inside his pockets. He could vaguely hear the voices outside but didn’t acknowledge them as he stood waiting, hoping. Did he do something wrong? Maybe he wasn’t coming, maybe he didn’t want to, maybe Richie was naive to think-

A frantic knock came from the door and Richie was there in an instant, nearly slipping on the wooden floor, his shoes squeaking, as he ripped the entrance open.

“Sorry I’m late,” Eddie gasped out.  _ He must’ve ran all the way over here _ , Richie thought, judging by how the boy gripped his shirt over his heart and the way his chest was rising and falling. He was wearing a soft blue polo, over jean shorts that were cuffed above his knees. Ankle socks, with stripes, of course,  _ blue, yellow, blue _ . Richie didn’t have to decide if he looked cute, because when didn't he? The extra effort into his appearance was appreciated though, Richie had done the same thing. 

Eddie was carrying a plate of cookies, Saran Wrap overtop the dessert. “My mom wouldn’t let me leave, it’s like she thinks I’m never gonna come back for her or something.”

Richie listened to his words, but didn’t respond, only tugged the boy inside before shutting the door because he had to do something first. He took the plate from him and carefully set it on the countertop with the other desserts, Eddie standing at his side. Richie then turned to him and leaned down immediately, planting a kiss on his mouth, one that was sweet and happy and overwhelmingly loving. He pulled back, but not too far, whispering, “Happy six month anniversary,” his stomach alive and squirming with butterflies.

Eddie smiled his embarrassed smile, eyes darting to the ground as he repeated, “Happy six month anniversary, Trashmouth.”

Richie leaned to quickly wrap his arms around the other’s torso, easily lifting him off of his feet as he pressed his red face into his neck. “I missed you, Spaghetti Man," (Even though they had just seen each other the other day and had talked on the phone the night prior), "I thought you weren’t coming.” 

Eddie had started wiggling and kicking in his hold, letting out an angry frustrated noise. “ _ Let me go, Idiot! _ Or else I’ll change my mind.”

Richie let out a laugh, dropping him to his feet, but not letting go. “No you  _ wouldn’t _ , you love me too much.” He arms wrapped tight around his shoulders, keeping them close, hearing a grumble. “What was that, Eds? I’m the love of your life? You think about me when you go to sleep and first thing when you wake up? I’m so hot you can’t keep your hands off me? I-”

Eddie  _ wapped _ him on the back of the head, loudly saying,”I  _ said _ , beep beep, Richie." A pause. " _ Beanpole _ .”

Richie frowned. “Says the one who’s standing on their tip-toes right now, so short they can't ride the big rides at the carnival.”

Eddie feigned a gasp, reaching to try and wack him on the head again only to be stopped by Richie's hand, sending them into a fight of soft shoves and giggling and blushing faces. 

"You're such a little  _ dickhead _ ," Richie laughed out, trying to hold Eddie still to give him a noogie.

Yes, they had started dating. And, yes, Richie couldn’t believe it either. Every day he got to wake up and know that Eddie loved him back and every day he still did a double-take, making sure he wasn’t crazy. It had been a series of nervous phone calls and quiet laughter and subtly holding hands between them so no one could see and so many kisses that Richie was constantly light-headed. Eddie’s mother didn’t know, of course, but it was okay. Richie knew what her reaction would be and they were trying to lay low, or at least, stay as low as they could. Richie had, in fact, told his parents. He didn’t know what to expect at all, he didn’t know what they had felt about the topic at hand.

_ “Hey, so . . .” Richie had started, taking a long pause afterward. He had gathered his parents in the kitchen, like they had used to but this time it was much more efficient and productive when they had their ’talks’. But, it was different this time because it was Richie bringing the three of them together and not one of his parents (usually his mother) who had done it. He could tell this made them nervous, his father’s eyebrows were furrowed and his mother was leaning forward on her elbows with a frown. “Uh,” he cut himself off with an anxious laugh, adjusting in his seat, “So,” he repeated, talking with his hands. “I wanted to tell you something.”  _

_ Maggie nodded, Wentworth asking, “What is it? Everything okay?” _

_ That made him smile and caused him to avert his eyes, thinking over everything. It had only been a few weeks after everything had happened and he had felt good enough that it was time to tell his folks, even if it could be dangerous. “Yeah, yes, Everything is great, actually. Because I wanted to tell you two that I’m dating someone.” _

_ His mother’s mouth fell open, her chin tilting down. “You are? Who? For how long?” _

_ “A few weeks,” he said, nodding. “But we’ve known each other for a while.” _

_ “Okay,” Went responded. “What’s her name?” _

_ Richie’s heart slightly dropped at this and he gulped, starting to slightly slouch in his chair. “Well . . . I . . .” He looked into their eyes, back and forth, both soft and concentrated. He took a breath, adjusting his glasses. “His . . . actually. _

_ They both stayed silent, which freaked him out more than if they would’ve said something terrible to him. _

_ “Eddie Kaspbrak,” he concluded. He quickly spoke up to stop them from speaking, to fill the void of stunned silence. “And I know- I know this is . . . hard? For you guys to hear, but, I’m not gonna change. I can’t and I won’t. Because Eddie- He’s- Eddie is everything to me. And it shouldn’t matter whether-” _

_ His father interrupted him, asking Richie, “When can we meet him?” _

_ This knocked the wind out of him, leaving him wordless for a few moments. “Really?” _

_ “Well, yeah. If you’re dating someone we want to meet them. Right, Mags?” _

_ Maggie immediately nodded, smiling and reaching across the table to grab her son’s hand. “Of course we do.” They both watched him with such an intense caring expression that made him want to cry. And he did, a little. _

_ “Okay, cool,” he choked out, sniffling. “Because I hid him upstairs right before you guys walked in like the alien from E.T., so I guess I can let him out now.” _

And even before that, their friends.

_ A week after the endeavor, Richie and Eddie’s five friends had gathered at the quarry, the cliff that overlooked the water where both versions of the boy’s photography project had been done. Now, they didn’t know that the two of them had made up, let alone gotten their shit figured out. Mike had told Eddie they would meet there and Beverly had told Richie, so they had decided to make an appearance, together. _

_ So, when they walked to the clifftop, hand in hand, both a bit apprehensive even if they both trusted that their friends would be accepting of them, it was wild. Beverly jumped up from where she was sat, spouting joyous laughter, Ben next to her unable to stop smiling. Mike welcomed them and gave them both a hug, like they were his cousins he hadn’t seen in a while. Stan shook his head, giving a smile as if to say, “Finally.” And Bill stood there grinning approvingly, thankfully. _

“ _ Ugh _ , are you five?” Eddie complained, pushing Richie’s hands away from trying to hold him to mess up his hair.

Richie didn’t let up though, reaching to try and tickle him, saying, “Remember that time in your kitchen like this and then we nearly kissed? But then your mom walked in? Total cockblock, dude.”

Eddie let out a laugh that nearly made Richie melt and then stopped their scuffle by reaching up to pull Richie down into a kiss, effectively making him shut up,  _ beep beep, Richie.  _

His glasses pressed into the bridge of his nose as he stepped closer to the other, reciprocating and holding onto Eddie’s waist for dear life, never wanting to let go. He wanted the moment to extend into forever, wanted it to be the only thing he ever felt again.

Yet, they did have to pull apart eventually, interrupted by the sound of Maggie entering through the back door. “Boys,” she said, raising a knowing eyebrow.

Eddie jumped away from Richie with a nervous laugh, only to be pulled back against Richie’s chest, the taller boy finally achieving in giving the other a noogie.

_ “Richie-” _

“Hey, Mom, look who I found,” he said nonchalantly, struggling to keep the small boy in his hold.

“Hello, Eddie,” she said casually, because she had probably said it a hundred times before with how many other occasions he had come to their house over the start of the year. “Richie, let him go, he’s not a toy,” Maggie said, passing them to mess with something on the counter.

Eddie pushed him away, purposefully with more force. “ _ Yeah _ , I’m not a toy,  _ Richie. _ ”

He went at him again, trying to lift him off his feet in retaliation, the sound of their shoes sliding across the floor and their laughter could be heard.

“Alright, boys,” Richie’s mother said with a chuckle. “Why don’t you two go outside and eat, yeah?”

They didn’t have to be told twice, Richie nearly chasing Eddie out of the house. He hadn’t felt like that in a while, so happy and free and youthful. To him, it sounded stupid, but in all truth he had felt fifty years older than he was in the past year and a half. With everything that had happened, how much he had grown, it was nice to finally be back to normal. Not the past normal, thankfully, but a new one that he felt comfortable and right in.

Everyone had greeted Eddie when they sat down at a table, across from Mike, Bill, and Georgie. Stan, Beverly and Ben sat at another, while the adults had their own table.

“Who’s that?” Eddie asked, gesturing at the woman who sat next to Ms. Williams, making Richie’s heart leap when he remembered.

“Her wife,” he stated clearly.

It took a moment for it to settle in, the boy’s eyebrows furrowed as he stared for a moment, but when it dawned on him he jerked his head to look Richie in the eyes in stunned silence. “She- Really?”

“Yeah. I know, I didn’t even know. It’s . . . It’s really cool.”

Eddie nodded, keeping his gaze on Richie, eyes wide as he smiled. He abruptly looked away, blushing, most likely realizing he was staring. 

Richie didn’t know what that meant, what the other was thinking, but it made him excited. He pressed their shoulders together and joined in on Bill and Mike’s conversation.

They had all gotten plates of sandwiches and salads and an assortment of fruits and vegetables, his mom had really gone all out for him. Richie wished he had known how to cook or at least known how he could’ve helped out more. Don’t get him wrong, he helped out a lot (more than his mother probably would’ve liked), but he wanted to do something more.

Speaking of his mother, he hadn’t seen her come back out of the house since he had exited. He looked around, seeing if maybe she was standing next to a table and talking with someone, but she wasn’t. Richie had known what was going on the moment he knew she hadn’t come back outside to sit and it made him sigh in his spot.

“You okay?” Eddie asked from beside him, giving the other a small upturn of his lips.

His attention made Richie’s chest tighten. “Yes,” he returned, smacking a kiss on Eddie’s cheek (which made him complain and wipe at his face) before he stood. “I’ll be right back.”

Everything had gone as well as it could’ve gone since Frank Kaspbrak’s cause of death had been set in stone. Since their fight and their reconnection. Since Richie’s parents had both set themselves on a different path, one that would benefit them as a whole. It had gone even better than he had expected, than he had hoped. This, obviously, hadn’t all been smooth waters. Maggie still had her temptations now and then and Wentworth still had trouble connecting to his family again. And even Eddie had been somewhat stuck, trapped in his own guilt. No matter how many times Richie repeated to him that he forgave him, he would need time to forgive himself.

And that reminded him. As he walked inside the house, he knew that this was probably the time. Because there had been enough of it.

He found her sitting at the kitchen table, not a wine glass in her hand but just a pen as she wrote something down on a pad of paper. “Hey,” Richie said, standing in the doorway.

She looked up, her hand flinching in surprise. “Hey.”

“Why’re you sitting in here?” he asked, despite knowing the real answer and also the answer she would give.

She shrugged, giving a reassuring smile. “Just writing some stuff down.”

He nodded. He let the silence surround them for a few moments, soaking it in, before Richie spoke up again. “I want to tell you something,” he said, swallowing.

She stood to walk to the counter and open a drawer next to the fridge, closing the pad of paper and setting it as well as the pen inside. She hip-checked it closed, turning to look at him, crossing her arms. “Okay.”

Richie moved to walk next to her, leaning back against the counter, taking a few seconds to turn and look at her face. “Mom,” he started. He was nervous. It took a lot for him to say it out in the open like this, something that he truly meant and truly felt with every fiber of his being. Honestly, it was scary. He hated speaking his feelings, especially when it was something as big as this. But he needed to do it. For him, for his mother, for his family as a whole. So, he took a deep breath, staring into her eyes, and let it out. “I forgive you, Mom.” 

Her breath stuttered, her right hand moving to grip the countertop.

“I forgive you,” Richie repeated, whispering, the sound wavering, almost echoing in his ears as Maggie watched him, like she didn’t believe it.

His mother stood there, her hand falling to her side. Her eyes were getting shiner by each second, threatening to leak as he gave a quivering smile. Maggie slowly crept towards him, expression almost asking if this was okay. Richie didn’t let her wonder, he answered immediately by stepping forward, into her arms. He felt her chest thump against his as she softly hiccupped her sobs. “Oh, Richie,” she said. “Thank you,” she sobbed.

He clenched his burning eyes and breathed in a gasping breath, smiling all the while. “I love you,” he told her. “Thank you for everything. Thank you for trying. Thank you for actually doing it this time, really, for actually being here. Because I need you.”

“I need you,” she repeated. She gave a watery laugh. “Making me cry,” she muttered, weakly sniffling.

Richie smiled harder. “I’m proud of you,” he whispered.

That made her cry harder, made her hold him tighter.

It took them a little while to finally go back outside, together.

-

“Dad, that’s so embarrassing,” Richie complained, pressing the palm of his hand against his eyes. He could feel Eddie shaking with laughter beside him, Beverly giggling on his other side.

They had moved to come inside the house after everyone was finished eating, filling it with more chatter than twelve people should. There was laughing and, surprisingly, dancing (Beverly had been the one to suggest turning the radio on in the first place, and Richie and Georgie had pleaded with Maggie to do so, because of course they needed music). Bill and Richie had laughed so hard they nearly cried, seeing their photography teacher try and dance to  _ Bust a Move _ , her limbs stiff and awkward as her wife laughed along with them. It turned into mostly Bill’s little brother pulling people in front of the couch to dance with him and it had made pretty good entertainment for the party. While that slowly died down, Wentworth had taken the opportunity to tell all of Richie’s friends embarrassing stories of when he was a child.

“It didn’t happen like that,” he continued, face red.

“How could you remember? You were three,” his father said with a laugh.

He lifted his chin up. “Little Richard Tozier would  _ never _ ,” Richie jokingly assured them. “He was a bright young lad with big aspirations for the future, who just happened to pretend to be a dog and eat off the floor like one, so what?”

Eddie made a noise from beside him, a half gag, half laugh. “Oh god, that’s so disgusting.” 

Richie laughed and leaned forward, trying to kiss him.

Eddie squirmed and pushed Richie’s face away, hissing, “ _ Ew, _ get away,  _ dog breath _ .”

This made the tall boy laugh even louder, his boyfriend escaping to go to talk to Mike and Stanley.

Beverly hooked her arm around his neck (having to really reach up because he was almost too tall, pulling him down in the process), watching Eddie go. “Wow, Rich, you really know how to woo a guy, huh?” she said, smiling.

“ _ Hey _ , Marsh, you know no one can resist this. Not even little Eddie Spaghetti over there,” he said, shaking his head. 

Richie’s eyebrows shot up, remembering what he had wanted to do. He parted from the group for a moment to head up to his room to quickly grab something and nearly fell down the stairs with it, clumsy as always. The music was shut off as he rounded everyone up, setting up his camera that he had gotten from his parents for his birthday. He wanted to get a picture of all of them together.

“You sure you know how to work that thing?” Carly asked, coming to stand beside him as she smirked.

“Well, I learned from the best, didn’t I?”

He set up a timer on the camera for ten seconds, so he could jump in too.

Before the shutter clicked he looked around, at everyone, everyone who was there for him.

His friends, who had shown him how to feel comfortable in his own skin. Who had been there for him every step of the way and gave him space when he needed it. Bill, who was kind and almost never angry, there for Richie when he needed advice or needed someone to call when he didn’t know what to do. Bill, who knew what he was going through when others didn’t. Stanley, who told him the  _ truth _ , who knew that Richie needed the truth over anything else. Who was harsh in a brotherly way and always knew when there was something wrong and somehow knew how to fix it immediately. Beverly, who had stolen with Richie, laughed with him, had been the sister who he never really understood he had had, right there. She was caring, so caring, and she was herself when everyone else told her not to be and she gave him all of her heart, to make him feel better, to make Richie feel like not everything was lost because she was there. She always stood by his side and was pushing him to be who he was, someone who she loved because it was  _ him _ , not some fake person like Gretta Keene, or the person he was for nearly two years. And Ben and Mike, even they had been a large part of Richie’s life, even if they hadn' known each other for that long. They had shown him that there were others who felt like him, not just Richie and his three friends. They had known what they were going through, and being together, all seven of them, made them strong. Made Richie strong, like he had never felt before. They kept getting up when no one else could, just because they knew they had someone else who had their back. That was what gave him the strength to get through each day, one at a time.

Ms. Williams, now  _ Mrs.  _ Carly Williams. She had shown Richie that he could do something he set his mind to, he could live the life he wanted to by doing so. She had shown him that there was a future, what it could be like in the future for him. She was  _ brave _ , and helpful, and everything he had needed when she had shown up. She had a wife, someone who loved her back just as much as she loved her. It gave him hope, even if they weren’t legally married, they were together because they loved each other. And it was real. It was a real love that Richie could rely on, to know that he wasn’t crazy. To know that his own love could grow into what theirs was. And, most of all, Carly had accepted him. The first adult in Derry that he felt safe with, that he knew would never turn their back on him. She  _ knew _ and she applauded him. For showing himself, who he really was. Even if he was more scared than he had ever been to do so, she made it so he knew that he had someone and that he was  _ okay _ , that being himself was okay and it was the best thing to be.

His parents. Maggie and Wentworth Tozier. Who taught him how to forgive and taught him to never give up, when everything seems lost, everything seems like it can’t be fixed. They taught him that it could, that nothing was ever really over as long as you’re still alive to keep pushing through and keep going just long enough to see the light at the end of the tunnel. His mother, who was one of the strongest people he had ever met, who, after everything, got better for him and for herself. She overcame everything to be here today and to show Richie that she would always be there, that they would never stop fighting for happiness together. His father, who never gave up, no matter how hard Richie pushed him. No matter what happened, he was there when things got bad. He showed Richie how to mend things by expressing his regret, by saying sorry. After everything, his father still accepted it because he would never stop loving his son, no matter what. And, mending his family was one of the hardest things Richie had done, because he was stubborn,  _ so _ stubborn, but forgiving them had also been one of the best things he had ever done. Because they were what made him him, who would never stop being there no matter what happened. His parents loved him for who he was, and he loved them the same, even after all of the mistakes, all of the pain. Because they were together now, and that’s all that mattered to him. It made it all worth it.

And, last, but not least, Eddie Kaspbrak. Richie, standing next to the boy, looked at him. He looked back into his eyes and smiled. The person who had entered his life and changed  _ everything _ . Who had shown him who he was. Someone who he could be the real Richie Tozier with because that’s who Eddie brought out in him, the real him. Eddie, the person who showed him how to escape, who showed him how to laugh when things were bad, who showed him how to  _ love _ . He was, without a doubt, the love of his life. Richie knew it. There was no exception, or doubt in his mind. No matter what, the boy had overcome his father’s death, had overcome his mother, who wanted him to be her own version of himself. He was  _ strong _ , and he was  _ brave _ , and he never stopped doing what he thought was right. Richie had forgiven him because he was  _ Eddie _ and Eddie was scared, just like Richie was. He even loved that about him, how he was scared, how he was when he was sad, when he was angry. Because Richie knew that he could make it better, because Eddie loved him back just as much. They had been through  _ a lot _ and they had done it together, two kids who had no clue how to be themselves until they found each other. They had made it through this town and these people and done a hell of a good job under the circumstance. And Eddie, knowing the right thing to do with the money his father had left him, left it alone. He saved it for chrissakes and it blew Richie’s mind because he knew he would’ve spent it all in under a week. He planned and he just  _ knew _ what was right sometimes and it made Richie feel protected, made him feel that everything was going to be alright. And it _was_ going to be. Because Richie had all of these people here with him, he had Eddie, right by his side and wasn’t going to let them go for anything. He had Eddie, the same small boy who he had met at the start of high school, who was timid and shy and angry at first glance. But, under that thick protective shell, he was sweet and uplifting and full of heart. That same boy was tricked into thinking he was sick, into thinking he was fragile, when he was so much stronger than anyone had given him credit for. The same Eddie Kaspbrak who loved Richie Tozier, who Richie Tozier loved back, the boy who he had fallen for long before he realized it, the kid who had worn the cast.

And this, all of them together, standing for and with Richie, he knew it was what he found most beautiful in the world, what the word beautiful meant to him. 

  
_ Them _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn. Well, there it was. This is the end of my fic, The Kid With the Cast. I really hope you all enjoyed it, because I know I had a lot of fun writing it. I really want to thank everyone who has given kudos to this fic and the people who have commented on the chapters, you guys really gave me the fuel to write this. Each and every message you wrote really made any day better when I read them, so thank you so much, y'all are amazing.
> 
> As I said before, I will be posting a smaller add-on to the fic to really put the cherry on top, so it's technically not over, but it kind of is, so there's that. I'm really excited to start fresh and write something new, I've got a few ideas that I would really like to try, so look out for that I guess.
> 
> Again, thank you so much, have a good day.
> 
> -Annie :)


	23. Epilogue - Tomorrow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little fluff to end it off with :)

_ Not quite thirty years later. _

Richie shut his car door with a thump, locking the doors after, causing it to beep and flash its lights. His neighborhood was quiet, like it always was, the breeze moving in soft waves that made the leaves scratch and shift on the trees. It was dusk, the sun had just disappeared under the horizon. He had gotten off of work early, leaving him to do whatever he wanted with his spare time, which, in most cases, was just going back home.

Richie walked up the drive, each step crunching. He hopped up the few stairs to the patio, switching to the right key to open up the front door. 

His home was quiet, strangely noiseless as he hung his coat next to the door, dropping his keys in the bowl on the shelf next to framed photos and a few nicknacks he had gotten while he was away. He paused for a moment, listening in for any sound or creak of wood. When his ears didn’t pick anything up, starting to smile, he slowly crept through the house, into the living room where the lights were already on. “Hmm. I guess she’s not here,” he said loudly to himself, about ready to sit down on the couch. A giggle sounded from the armed side of the couch, making him freeze. “Huh,” Richie said, trying not to give a laugh. “Thought I heard something.” He stepped over a few feet. “Maybe if I check-  _ Oh! _ ”

The little girl who was crouched on the floor next to the arm of the couch let out loud laughter, her eyes squinting as her smile pushed her cheeks. Her long blonde hair was pulled into a ponytail, bangs hanging over her forehead. She wore a bright pink princess dress over her jeans. “Papa!” she squealed, jumping into Richie’s arms.

He laughed, pulling her up to hold her against him. “ _ Hey _ , honey,” he said. “I missed you.”

She wrapped her small arms around his neck to pull him closer. “I colored a picture today in school today and then daddy picked me up and then we went to the movies and he let me help start make dinner,” she quickly said, laying her head on his shoulder to look up at him.

Richie smiled down at her and asked, “Yeah? Did you have fun?”

She nodded, setting her focus on messing with his collar.

Richie sat down with her in his lap, letting her settle there. He noticed a small polka-dotted bandage on her arm and gave a frown. “Mickey Mouse, what happened?” he asked, brushing his fingers over it.

She rolled her eyes (or at least tried to) at her nickname, something she learned from her father. She giggled at herself, answering, “I got a scratch but daddy fixed it. Wanna see?” She then proceeded to reach and try to peel the bandage off.

He shook his hand, ushering her to stop and trying to keep himself from laughing. “No, no, don’t peel that off, Michelle.” He wiped his smile off his face, thinking,  _ five-year-old Richie would’ve done that too _ . Trying to change the subject and make her forget about her band-aid, he said, “So he’s in the kitchen, yeah?”

“Yep.” She placed her small finger against her lips and tried to whisper, “It’s a surprise,” but it still ended up being almost a shout when she said it. 

“Oh okay,” he whispered back, nodding.

Richie, now a grown man, was holding a quite respected job as a  _ comedian _ .  _ Take that.  _ And maybe, every once in awhile, he got a photography gig. He hated that he loved it. 

“Pop, can we go to Aunt Bev and Uncle Ben’s?” Michelle whined. “Please?”

“Sure we can, tomorrow.”

And he still had his same friends by his side. And his parents were now referred to as  _ grandma  _ and  _ grandpa _ . And maybe he even kept in touch with a certain retired high school teacher that had once helped him when he was a teenager. Richie had made it through high school, at the time it sounded near impossible, but he was right when thinking he could do it if he had the people he loved with him. Of course, there were rough patches, it had been almost thirty years, it couldn’t have been all smooth sailing through such a long expanse of time. But, to him it was all worth it. Especially when he got to see his daughter’s face every day. And, of course, when he got to see his husband’s face every day.

Soft footsteps could be heard sounding from down the hallway, heading to the living room.

Michelle let out a small gasp that was closely followed by quiet laughter. She slipped off of his lap and onto the floor to pad out of the living room to meet who was coming. Richie could hear soft speaking from where she had disappeared to. It took only a few short moments for them to appear in the doorway, Michelle on his hip. Eddie. A bit taller, a bit older, and maybe a few more wrinkles to his features, but nonetheless still his Eddie. Eddie smiled at him in surprise. “You got off early?”

Richie nodded, almost unable to accumulate words at how happy he felt.

“Well, come on asshole, I burnt dinner so we’re going out.”

Richie was about to laugh out,  _ of course you did _ , but was interrupted.

“ _ Asshole? _ ” Michelle repeated, scrunching her eyebrows together in confusion.

Eddie’s jaw dropped in horror, making Richie clap his hands together as he started to really laugh, leaning over as it bellowed out of him.

“What does that mean?” she asked, looking up at Eddie, then back down at Richie.

He threw his head back to laugh harder, hearing Eddie say, “ _ Don’t-  _ Richie don’t  _ laugh- _ ,” even if there was an underlying tone of amusement in his voice and a bit of laughter bubbling from his throat.

“ _ Oh _ ,” was all he could get out for a moment, before calming himself down a little and saying, “Eds, we both knew I was bound to say something. But you?” He laughed some more.

“Beep beep.”

  
Michelle recognized this and continued the phrase, getting a laugh out of Eddie as well by doing so. “ _ Beep beep, Richie _ .”

"Yeah, that's right. What she said," Eddie said, smiling.

Richie and Eddie looked at each other for a moment, their little family together, happy. Excited smiles plastered on their faces, both thought, _How did I get so lucky? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! :))))


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